


Snapshots of a Broken Soldier

by Bythoseburningembers



Series: The Boy Of Prophecy [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker is Not the Chosen One, And found some pathetic life-forms, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Force-Users Galore, Found Family, Gen, He pulled a Qui-gon, Healing, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Post-Order 66, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Repressed Memories, Training, broken souls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bythoseburningembers/pseuds/Bythoseburningembers
Summary: Short scenes depicting Obi-wan Kenobi's life after he is called to study with the Whills in the wake of Order-66.
Series: The Boy Of Prophecy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731859
Comments: 19
Kudos: 108





	1. The One Called Ben

He was woken by hushed, high-pitched giggling.

The traveler opened his eyes sluggishly. His limbs felt like lead. His heart drummed a steady _ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump_ in his ears.

Above him, three tiny faces broke into another round of delighted snickers when he focused on them. They were Force-sensitive, probing and jabbing at him curiously. Obi-wan had not seen children besides Luke and Leia for quite some time. He lay at their mercy, intrigued.

“He’s awake!” One of them whispered. A Twi’lek, with stubby green montrals.

“Go get Master Reykejin!” The eldest of them hissed, jabbing a finger to somewhere behind them. There was sunlight filtering in from that direction. The traveler blinked. The last thing he remembered was being surrounded by the smoking, sparking innards of his ship as it came from hyper-space. Something had burst in his face. Then nothing.

Well, evidently, he wasn’t dead.

The Twi-lek boy nodded and bolted away on legs too long and quick for any sane being. “Here,” the eldest girl appeared no older than ten years. She was Cerean, like Master Mundi. The stranger cringed as the memory brought with it pain. The little girl knelt beside him, offered a wooden bowl. “Water,” she offered. He snatched the cup hungrily, suddenly ravenous for water.

He gulped it down, felt some slosh over the side and into his beard and hair. When only the last drop was gone, he finally looked up. The front of his grimy shirt was soaked. The children stared at him with wide eyes. Then burst into another round of laughter. He blinked. The third child was humanoid, with skin the color of moon beams.

“Where…?” He cleared his throat. “Where am I?”

“Awajira,” The eldest replied immediately, smiling at him. “You got here many moons ago,” she wrinkled her tiny nose. “You stink.”

He had no excuses to offer her, so he merely nodded. “Now Wilna, it’s not nice to inform someone of when they stink,” The traveler looked up to find someone else had entered the… Building? Room? Hut?

He was Pantoran, an elder if the wrinkles beneath his eyes were any indication. Dressed in a light brown cloak and tunic. His cloak draped like curtains on the ground as he went to his knees beside the traveler. He was very, _very_ strong in The Force. He smiled.

“You made it,” he breathed. He waved a hand without turning. “Thank you for watching over our guest, children. You may return to your chores now.”

“Yes, Master,” the children replied in unison. Then they skipped away, chasing and cackling.

The traveler scowled, felt at his head to double check whether he had a fever. “You’re… Not Jedi….” He slurred. The stranger harrumphed.

“Indeed not! My name is Reykejin Tillahundri. I was brought here three-hundred years ago to be trained as A Whill, and here I have stayed since,” The traveler shook his head, wondering if he’d heard right. Reykejin chuckled. “Yes, I am quite old. No need to act so surprised on my account,” his eyes gleamed. “We have much work to do together, Obi-wan Kenobi.”

“Obi-wan Kenobi is dead,” the traveled informed him shortly.

Reykejin studied him for a long moment, his yellow eyes cutting deep into the traveler. There wasn’t much to look at anymore, and he was too exhausted to protest so he allowed it. “I see. What should I call you, then?”

The Traveler had not thought of this. “Ben,” he decided at last. “Just Ben.”

“Well, Ben, we have much work to do yet. Now, you’ll have to excuse my manners but the children were right,” he leaned in conspiratorially. “You smell like a dead gundark. Come with me,” Reykejin stood gracefully, extended a hand to help him. Ben took it and was pulled upright with surprising ease.

He gasped as blood rushed down the rest of his body. He leaned against the old man, gasping. “How long have I been here?” He asked when he had regained his breath.

“Ah, perhaps a few hours. Your ship crashed on the far side of the planet.” Now that he could see, he was indeed in a hut of some sort, made of hard leather. Small beads and shells hung from the ceiling. It smelled of lavender and honey. He followed Rekejin outside. The sun immediately brought tears to his eyes. He swiped them away.

“And you’re… The Whills?” He asked. They were, after all, in the center of a village. People of numerous species walked about purposefully. The Force radiated from them all.

“These people are not Whills, no. They are the Awaji. I am only one of the Whills. You are not in the place of training. You’re in the hearth,” Ben had no clue what any of that meant. Reykejin did not seem to expect that he did. He only strode through the village, occasionally stopping to greet someone or help carry a gourd. Ben tripped after him.

“You’re the one who called me here?” He asked.

“Yes.”

They ducked into a low cave. It was cooler inside, dim. Fluorescent moss covered the ceiling and ground, led down a tunnel. Ben stared. “Why?”

“I told you. We have much work to do together. Watch your step,” Ben stumbled over the rock anyway. “Here we are,” in the middle of the room was a large pool of water. It burbled, bubbles popping and dancing on the surface. Steam wafted from its dark waters. “This is where you can bathe. No one shall disturb you, so don’t worry about modesty. I’ll bring you new clothes,” Reykejin pivoted on his heel and started back a separate tunnel, swift as a bird.

“Wait!” Ben cried. The old man halted in the entryway. “I… I don’t understand. Why me?”

“Oh, my friend,” Reykejin huffed, humorlessly. He turned, and his smile was both sad and affectionate. “Why _not_? I’ll be back,” he vanished into the shadows, and Ben was alone.


	2. The One Who Seeks

Ben’s new clothes were colorful, to say the least. His undertunic itself was deep purple, while his outer tunics were a soft gray. His pants were white. Reykejin laughed when he exited the springs, wrinkling his nose distastefully. “I look like a jester,” Ben protested.

“You look younger,” Reykejin argued, but his wide grin gave away his amusement. That and it was burbling in the Force. “Come now. I’ll show you your new dwelling. An old friend of mine has agreed to host you,” Ben felt a thrill of panic.

“I don’t want to impose on anyone,” he said, even as he jogged to keep up with the old master’s wide strides.

“It is no imposition at all. The Awaji are a remarkably close community. If you were to live alone, you would never have any peace because everyone would constantly be knocking on your door inviting you to do something or another. This way, you can enjoy some privacy,” in Ben’s former life, he had come across such tight-knit communities. As an ambassador, he had been afforded special compensation. Everyone expected him to stay to himself.

But he wasn’t that man anymore.

Perhaps that was why he did not say another word as Reykejin led him back through the quieting village. The fat sun dipped over the horizon. The air was heavy with the savory smell of stews and broths. The hut that Reykejin ducked into was large and built out of wood instead of leather.

“This is my close friend, Adaj,” Reykejin said, waving to a large, broad shouldered Chagrian who stood when they entered. Adaj smirked. He was at least two inches taller than Ben, radiating power and challenge in The Force. He extended one gigantic hand. Ben’s own hand was quickly devoured.

“Welcome,” Adaj intoned, without losing the smirk. “This is my family,” he turned as two women walked into the room, laughing. One of them was a Nautolan, with large, empathetic black eyes. Her green spotted montrals shivered when she flicked them behind one shoulder. “My wife, Dame’tas,” the Nautolan immediately sprung forward and wrapped slightly slimy but powerful arms around his neck.

Ben took a hurried step backwards, gasping. The hug was over as soon as it began, the Force a swirling mass of care and compassion deeper than any he had ever known. He stared into this woman’s eyes and saw Bant’s face. He relaxed.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” Dame’tas explained amiably. He dipped his head.

“Our daughter, Amondi,” Ben expected to see a cross-species, but instead he was greeted with a young Cathar, cat-like ears twitching. Her short chocolate mane was separated into hundreds of tiny braids that drifted across her face. She swiped them away and gifted him with a more reserved bow. He returned the favor, grateful.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you,” he muttered, eyes downcast. He felt suddenly exposed before these people, at their mercy. Dame’tas ventured closer, her head tails wriggling at his distress.

“You may stay for however long you need,” she assured him gently. “What should we call you?”

“Ben,” The three of them exchanged a knowing look. “What?”

Adaj cleared his throat. “In our language, Ben means Seeker,” he cocked his head. “What do you seek?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was called so I came.” Adaj narrowed his eyes at Reykejin, some silent communication going between them. Ben felt a knot grow in his throat. Once, he had done the same with so many…Mace, Anakin, Yoda, Qui-gon. Now he was alone, bonded to none, as clueless and vulnerable as a youngling.

“It must be important, what you’ve come here to do,” Amondi declared, to his surprise. “The Force is very strong with you.”

“As it is with you,” he glanced at Reykejin. “Are all people Force-sensitive here?”

“We are known as The Awaji,” Dema’tas piped in. “It means keepers of the Light,” Ben startled.

_We are keepers of the peace, not soldiers._

Reykejin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “We are all of us of different species, cultures and languages. We are all One with The Force.”

“How did you get here?”

“We were born here. Our ancestors, like yours, were called from their original home-worlds to this place by The Whills. There are other villages scattered across the planet, though it is small. We are simply closer to The Whills,” Adaj clarified.

“Awajira rests between two black holes and behind a star that has been growing for centuries, Ben,” Reykejin added, when he sensed Ben’s spike of fear. The Empire would be searching for all known Force-users to Turn or kill. “It is how we have been so well hidden throughout the years, even from the eyes of the Jedi. We are safe.”

“For now,” he whispered.

Amondi, Adaj and Dame’tas looked confused by the exchange, but they did not probe for answers. Dame’tas linked an arm through his, tugged him deeper into the hut. “Reykejin, will you join us for supper?” She called over her shoulder. “I made ondari vegetable stew,” Ben nodded.

“I’m afraid I must return to my brothers, but thank you, Dame’tas.”

Ben swiveled. “You’re leaving?” Reykejin was the voice that had plagued Ben for weeks. Reykejin’s nod was firm but gentle.

“You’ll be well-cared for here,” he promised. “We’ll see each other again when the time is right,” with a conspiratorial wink, the other man simply vanished. Not only his signature in the Force, but his body as well. His clothes and robes dropped to the ground, empty. Ben gawked. Adaj rolled his eyes and stooped to pick up the abandoned things.

“He knows I hate it when he does that,” he grumbled.

“That’s why he does it!” Dame’tas laughed. She dragged him along. “Come with us, Seeker. We’ll see you fed and then off to bed. You’ll find your purpose here soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit to not being fully versed on every species in Star Wars. For others of similar mindset, Adaj is the same species as the Chancellor's Vice-Chair. The dude with the long horns. Deme'tas is the same species as Kit Fisto. And Amondi is basically a cat-creature.


	3. The One Without Time

Ben spent weeks in the Awaji village.

He asked Reykejin when he would start his training, to which the old man replied “ _if you try to pour healing waters into a punctured gourd, the water will only trickle out through the cracks. You are not ready to train yet,”_ and that had been that.

So Ben was conscripted into village life. His days followed a pattern as predictable as night and day. He woke at dawn to join the family in group meditation. It was not a deep or intimate experience, merely the act of togetherness as they reached into the Force for individual strength.

Adaj and Amondi were responsible for breakfast. As they cooked, he and Dame’tas tended the garden. Every family in the village cultivated their own food. _“It is because we are all different species and have different diets,”_ Dame’tas told him. _“I have some human friends. I shall ask them for seeds from their crop for you.”_ Ben grew spinach, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, yams, quinoa. He enjoyed coaxing life from the ground, the soft work of sifting through soil and plucking weeds from the dirt. Dame’tas always filled the morning with quiet conversation.

They spoke of everything under the sun. The Awaji’s history, herbal medicines, best teas, who had just given birth or been married, gifts for Amondi’s lifeday. Things Ben had never spent time thinking about before, but now seemed just as important as lightsaber training or hand-to-hand combat.

Breakfast was usually a combination of freshly gathered fruit, porridge, and eggs. They knelt on the floor in the hut and ate together. Amondi and Adaj would then engage in some form of verbal sparring, debating politics or religion or ways of the Force. Ben sometimes joined. Most days, he and Dame’tas continued their own conversations.

Then everyone split. Amondi went to finish her own chores before “Learning,” began. Ben and Adaj joined others in routine tasks requiring strength. Repairing huts, tracking, and hunting. Like the Jedi, the Awaji did not believe in using the Force for minor tasks, and so much of it was done using their own physical abilities. Ben learned archery and how to spear fish from Adaj, who was a patient and exuberant teacher, if not a bit arrogant, but Ben had prospered around such personalities before.

By mid-day, the hunters ate lunch together. Ben became friends with a fellow human, Kitra, who loved to crack jokes and tell amusing stories. They bounced off each other, their wit reducing the others to stitches. After mid-day meal, Ben left to give his own lesson.

Every adult member of the village was required to take part in “Learning.” It was basic instruction for the children. Unlike Jedi children, Learning continued until the Awaji children officially became adults at the age of twenty. He taught the younger children basic Force manipulation, and it was his favorite part of the day always.

The young ones called him “Old Man Ben,” and teased him mercilessly. They loved to play tricks on him. He encouraged such mischievousness, arranging complex games of hiding, acting, running, jumping, and lifting to engage their Force abilities and talents. Some were scarily adept at hiding, some so talented in their acting skills that Ben had been deceived more than once into thinking one of them was hurt and so had paused the game, only to be tackled by a barrage of giggling tricksters.

After “Learning” he had free time. Most days, he and Amondi went hiking. They explored the waterfalls and life pockets resting in the wilderness outside the village. More than once, they had come across dangerous predators and barely escaped with their lives. Every time they sprinted back to the village, laughing so hard tears flowed from their cheeks, adrenaline singing in their veins.

Sometimes, Ben spent time with new friends or sat down to have tea with the elders or tutor the older children in constellations and literature. When sunset began to chill the village, everyone returned to their own homes for dinner. There was always a guest at the table. Kitra or Reykejin, Amondi’s friends or Dame’tas’ parents. Ben learned to make so many meals that he finally outstripped Dame’tas as master of the kitchen.

Then they each retired to their separate rooms, a box-like cell where a single sleeping mat could sit. Ben also kept Obi-wan Kenobi’s lightsaber tucked inside of a special pocket he’d sewn into his blanket. As time passed, he stopped having nightmares of bombs and screaming clones and Vader’s golden orbs. He no longer saw Ahsoka’s eager eyes in the face of every youngling; or heard the voices of his fellow Councilmembers in the elders.

He never forgot. Sometimes he would spend his leisure time going through a series of katas from his old life on an abandoned beach somewhere. At night, sleepless and alone, he would recite the Jedi Code beneath his breath, fingers splayed over the empty saber. During Learning, he would stumble or stammer when he noticed one of the younglings doing something so… _Anakin-like_ it brought tears to his eyes.

Once a week, instead of retiring to their own huts, everyone in the village would congregate around a blazing fire. A make-shift stage would be erected, and anyone could mount it and tell stories. Even the tiniest of younglings took part in the ceremony, spouting humorous or scandalize tales from their day. Kitra often ascended the stage to tell jokes. Amondi had dragged him up once or twice so they could relate which creature they had evaded that day.

In the beginning, the villagers asked him to tell the story of who he had been before coming to Awajira. Ben always declined. That life was over.

Eventually, he ceased asking Reykejin when he would start training. The Force here was bright and unsullied and tranquil. He released his anxieties about the universe outside, and the storm within him was tamed by the monotonous calm of his surroundings.

One day, he looked up from the garden. “How long have I been here?” He blurted, interrupting Dame’tas mid-ramble.

“Ben, have you not been paying attention to days?” She laughed. “You’ve been here a year.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” Dame’tas bent over a particularly stubborn root. “Now, will you help me tug this little bastard out of the ground?”


	4. The One Who Knew War

“Ben, will you help me with something?” Ben hesitated in the doorway. The family had just finished dinner, and the small candles lighting the room were beginning to crackle into darkness. He glanced at Adaj. The older man shrugged.

“I’ll see to the animal traps around the village tonight, Ben,” he assured him, patting his shoulder. Without another word, he vanished into the night. Dame’tas had already retired. Ben had never seen them sleep in the same chamber, but he knew that was normal for inter-species couples. Without the same physiology or reproductive needs, why would they sleep together? Their love existed purely in the Force.

Ben pitched the waning candles to greater brightness and sat cross-legged before Amondi, who was lying on her stomach, finger scraping along an old, worn page. The Awaji believed in knowledge above all else. There was a library in the village, though it was not extensive and many of the tomes were outdated. The rest the children gleaned from The Force or learned from The Whills.

“I’m trying to understand something. I was hoping you could help me,” she said.

“I can try.”

“The Clone Wars,” _Cody’s guttural commands, the shrieks of civilians, a trampled white helmet on the ground._ “What was it about? I know it was a small affair but…”

“The Clone War was a _galactic_ war. There wasn’t a planet or star system unaffected,” he corrected, appalled by the casual statement. Amondi scowled.

“I thought it was merely a case of civil war within the Republic,” as if any civil war within the Republic would be a _mere case_. Ben cleared his throat.

“What have The Whills told you?” He asked carefully. Amondi furrowed her brows.

“Not much. Only that the war was very harmful and foolish, and took many lives,” her lips curled with disgust. Sharp fangs glinted in the candlelight. “The Republic manipulated the Living Force with Jedi help to create beings without free-will, so they would die for them. The Separatists had droids that reigned chaos and darkness from the sky,” she flopped to the ground, groaning dramatically. Ben struggled to control his breathing.

“What I don’t understand is why any of it _mattered._ What did it matter that a few planets didn’t want to be in the Republic anymore? How could the Jedi do such a terrible thing?” she peeked at him from beneath her braids. “I know they have backwards ways, but…”

Ben felt a jolt of shock. “Backwards ways?” He squawked.

“Have you not heard of the Jedi Order?” Amondi was all too happy to inform him. “They are an ancient sect of Force users in the galaxy. They are… _Restless_ beings, arrogant. They believe that having the Force gives them the _right_ to meddle in other people’s affairs. They have significant power elsewhere, but it is false power,” Ben stilled the clench of his stomach.

He was no longer Jedi.

These words applied to a dead man, not him. He inhaled a deep breath, tasting his reply in his mouth carefully. “The Clone Wars was started by a Sith Lord…”

“The Dark Ones are extinct, Ben,” Amondi corrected him patiently.

He arched a brow at her. “Are they?” Amondi fell silent, her alarm like a clarion call in the Force. “The Sith have not been extinct for decades. One of them, Darth Tyrrannous, coerced planetary leaders into joining the Separatist Alliance. The Republic had stood strong and united for millennia. It was _far_ from perfect,” he exhaled a humorless laugh.

“But it was supposed to be a democracy, providing every species an equal voice. The Separatist Alliance sponsored slavery and dictatorships, and they sought to conquer other planets against their will. The Jedi were sworn to protect the peace and democracy of the Republic, so when the Separatists…” Ben looked away. “They answered the call.”

“Of the Force?”

He smiled bitterly. “Of the Senate.”

Amondi growled low in her throat, a sign of displeasure. “They shouldn’t have meddled.”

“Perhaps not,” he sighed. “Tell me something. If a Dark Force user came, and split this village in two,” he gestured to their surroundings so full of warmth and community. “Then tried to enslave one half, would you allow it?” Amondi bit her bottom lip. She did not answer immediately, instead seeking answers in the Force.

Ben remembered doing that too.

“If it is the Force’s will,” she said at last, reluctantly. “I would not interfere. Nature teaches us that in the end,” she closed her eyes sadly. “All things must end. Night must come. Even the stars die, Ben.”

_Even stars die, Anakin Skywalker._

“Ah yes, but what if it wasn’t the Force’s will, but of a few corrupted, angry beings?” He pressed. Amondi raised her chin defiantly, seeing his questioning as some sort of test. Ben clenched his hands around his knees. He did not want to test her. He wanted to know the answers.

He wanted to know why he was here, alive, when so many others had fallen.

“Even the Dark Ones serve a purpose in the Force.”

He decided another tactic. “If I blow out the candles, can you see in this room?” He asked.

“Yes.” She had advanced sight and Force abilities. Darkness was no obstacle for her.

“How well?”

“Not well,” she admitted.

“Foresight, or outsider’s view, is like staring at a situation in pure sunlight,” he explained. “I am not saying you’re wrong, I am simply asking you to consider other points of view,”

Amondi smacked her forehead against the floor. “I still don’t _understand.”_

_I pray you never do._

“Think some more on it. We can continue this discussion later,” he told her. Amondi nodded and clapped the book shut.

“Thank you for staying up with me,” she whispered with a bow. Ben merely nodded and watched her scamper off to sleep. He exhaled a shuddering breath and turned, only to see Adaj’s dark, glittering eyes watching him from the night.


	5. The One Scarred

Reykejin came to retrieve him just as Ben was about to shoot down a wild onyx.

The old man appeared over his right shoulder. The animal, catching his scent in the air, darted away. “Blast it, Reykejin!” Adaj roared, springing from his position in the bush. The other hunters rose from hiding, lowering their bows. Ben turned, scowling. “That would have made us done for the day!”

Reykejin did not take his eyes from Ben. “It is time,” he intoned. Ben’s stomach dropped. The clearing suddenly fell eerily silent. Kitra was suddenly standing over his shoulder.

“I’ll take your bow,” she offered quietly. He handed it to her without word. He did not look away from Reykejin, though his heart hammered in his ears at the friendly old man’s stern demeanor. Ben turned, his eyes seeking out Adaj instinctively.

Adaj was staring back at him. He gave a small, encouraging smile.

Reykejin’s hand crashed down on his shoulder. Ben heard the dark groan of lightning, saw sparks fly before his vision as his spine was suddenly encompassed in searing pain, as if he had just been electrified. When the pain ceased, Ben blinked back to awareness like sand trickling down a mountain. Grain by grain.

He was… Nowhere. On a pier somewhere, surrounded by cold, thick fog. The ground shook from far away, a sudden spurt of power and darkness exploding from the ground. The Force slithered in this place like lava slunk from a volcano’s belly, hot and slow. Ben jumped to his feet, felt for his clothes. He was clothed by the fog. The rest of him was naked.

“Where am I?” He opened his mouth to ask. No sound came but the question echoed. He snapped his mouth closed.

“This is where you will Learn,” Ben turned. Reykejin stood behind him. Ben could not see past the fog whether he was also naked. He could only see his large, golden eyes. “This is where many Jedi have learned from us over the centuries, even the master of Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Ben squinted into the murk. There was light emanating from somewhere, harsh, and pure white. “Qui-gon was here?”

“Once. Now you are here. This is the reason I called you,” Reykejin agreed.

Ben crossed his arms. He was not cold, but the explosions rocking the ground made him feel oddly vulnerable, as if he were being stalked. “What do I do?”

“You must unlearn all you have learned,” Reykejin gestured to the sound of the explosions. “Go into the fire. It will cleanse you. Then we may begin.” Ben set his feet down carefully. There was nothing but slick stone beneath him. Reykejin hovered over his shoulder silently. As Ben neared the crashing _booms,_ the rock began to slope downwards, into a shuddering core. That core was where the fog came from. It was the origin of the Light. Ben shielded his eyes.

“I…” He closed his eyes. “I am afraid.”

“Good,” then Reykejin shoved him into the pit. Ben tumbled over the edge; breath snatched from him in a soundless scream. He flew head over heels, arms flailing. The Force assaulted him on all sides.

_“Obi-wan, train the boy.”_

_“Anakin, repeat after me: I will do my best to listen before I act.”_

_“I am a Jedi. We do not kill.”_

_“I was beginning to wonder if you’d got my message.”_

_“Cody, get down!”_

_“Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order.”_

_“I see Anakin’s new teaching method is to do as I say, not as I do. Welcome aboard.”_

_“I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi.”_

_“Destroy the Sith, we must.”_

_“From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!”_

_“Die, Jedi scum. I’ll see you in Hell.”_

Ben landed with a hollow thump. Something balmy and wet trickled past his ear. Blood. It was coming from him, but Ben could not move even his tiniest toes. His limbs were eschewed, head tilted to one side. His entire being was suffused with the pain and loss of over thirty years.

Reykejin knelt above him. “Kill me,” Ben pleaded softly.

“Ah, my seeker,” Reykejin muttered. He brushed a strand of bloodied hair from Ben’s face. “It is not my task to end your suffering. It is my duty to teach you to bear it.”

“I cannot! I cannot!”

“You must release the dread and shame in your heart,” Reykejin commanded. Ben tried to shake his head, to look away, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen to this spot, torn apart and bleeding life blood.

“That exploding core was you,” Reykejin poked Ben’s bare stomach. A shot of pain tore through him. “ _This_ is you. You cannot begin to see, to understand, until you start gardening in here too. Tear out the weed, my student. Tear it out at the root.”

“I can’t!” Ben sobbed. Reykejin shrugged.

“Then you will remain here forever. You will not die. You will not live. You will rot at the bottom of your own grave like a worm.”

The terror at that thought eclipsed any pain. Ben’s fingers twitched, desperately seeking a hand to grasp. The Force whirled around him carving into his chest old scars and new wounds.

Ben felt tears running down the sides of his face, stinging the skin and bone at the back of his bashed skull. “They’re gone,” he whispered. “They’re gone and I’m still here. I could not save them. I did not save _anyone.”_

“No,” Reykejin agreed.

“I made things worse.”

“Sometimes.”

Ben looked inward, to where the bubbling loss inside him was knotted into a tight heap at the base of his heart. “I didn’t know,” he gasped his deepest regret. Reykejin smiled. “I was like a child in a dark room. I didn’t know any better.”

“Yes,” Reykejin stood and offered his hand. “Would you like me to teach you?” Ben’s eyes swiveled. Without thinking, he surged upwards and clung to the hand.

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a writing residency next week in the mountains, so I won't be able to post anything. Hence, you get an extra chapter today! Enjoy1


	6. The One Skin He Sheds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I owe you an extra chapter. One more coming this Wed.

Time did and did not pass in his Learning. He had a vague impression of days flying past, but he could not count how many. The white of the Learning never dimmed. He went through many trials a minute, it seemed. Ben was wrenched, prodded, eviscerated and carved out.

Now he would be questioned. “Do you regret not killing Anakin Skywalker?” Reykejin asked him, on one such lesson. Ben nodded. Lying was futile here, where they could hear each other’s every thought.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was a Jedi. I had sworn to put the lives of many before my own feelings. I had sworn to destroy the Sith.”

Reykejin gave him a fiercely droll look. “And he betrayed you.”

“He betrayed us all,” Ben corrected sharply.

“What do you believe would have happened had you killed him?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Reykejin cupped his hands, offered their empty space to Ben.

“This is possibility,” he explained. “This void. It can be filled with anything, any combination of futures. But the possibility is greatly influenced by the shell,” he wiggled his fingers. “The strength of the shell determines the grandness of the possibility. The shell must be built to withstand the future. Your shell was not prepared to process the deaths of the Jedi _and_ the Fall of Anakin Skywalker. That is why Obi-wan Kenobi died and you became someone new.” Ben knew this already. He had lived it.

“What does this have to do with Anakin?”

Reykejin raised a finger in warning. “Patience. You must build a new shell for yourself. In this new shell, could you have killed him?” Ben gave a weary half-shrug. Reykejin jerked his chin at his hands. “Fill the void. Show me the possibility.”

So he did. Ben closed his eyes and breathed in the acrid smoke of that planet. He felt the heat through his boots again and saw Anakin’s limbless body wriggling near the lava. He felt once more those conflicting emotions. Love, disappointment, hurt, grief, fear, compassion. He poured the memory into the void; and watched as the shell hardened into determination.

“I HATE YOU!” Anakin roared.

His yellow orbs were like the flames he was sinking into. Obi-wan halted, licked a crumble of salty tear from his cheek. His mind played out so many scenes before him. Those of Anakin as a child, snuggling beneath the blankets and the fierce protectiveness Obi-wan had felt watching him sleep. The pride of seeing Anakin’s eyes brighten with a new saber trick or language.

The cold dread when Anakin jumped headfirst into some reckless, stupid danger out of a need to be the best, show the world, save the universe. The despair of watching Anakin relearn himself after Dooku slashed away his arm. The tired amusement when he noticed the boy-man trying to hide his emotions when they played out on his face like a holo-vid.

The nostalgic satisfaction of watching him and Ahsoka spar together, hearing Anakin repeat his own teachings. The deep-seated pain that constricted his chest when he noticed Anakin helping the troops to bury their dead men, the grit of his jaw. The love when Anakin still woke early to make Obi-wan a cup of tea, setting it on his bedside before he was deployed elsewhere.

Then he saw the dead bodies of the younglings.

Heard Darth Sidious… _“My new apprentice.”_

Felt his heart splinter again.

And Obi-wan Kenobi drove his lightsaber through Anakin’s chest. “Funny you should say that,” he murmured, as Anakin’s eyes bugged out and he squirmed and gasped for breath. “I feel the same.” The body shuddered a few times, like a fish caught on a hook, then went still. His eyes dulled, the dim gold now flickering into blue, then deathly gray.

Obi-wan stood victorious.

Ben snapped awake. “Well?” Reykejin asked, watching him gasp for breath. “Is that the shell you want?”

“No!” Ben cried immediately. Then softer, “no. I do not want to be the kind of man who… Who hates. Or who can kill with hate, or…” he inhaled a deep breath. “I do not want to be capable of killing my brother, even if he is a Sith.”

“Now you see the great folly -and sacrifice – of the Jedi,” Reykejin brushed away the possibility with a simple sweep of his hands. Ben watched it float to the ground in a whirl of maroon petals. “They were willing to kill for the greater good. It was noble, but hypocritical. Every creature is tethered together in the Force, like gossamer webs. To kill one, even a Dark One, is to murder a brother.”

Ben held his chest. He hadn’t done it. He hadn’t been strong enough. It stung, but some of the pain was already scabbing over. The spirit could heal itself. “Not everyone can be saved,” he pointed out.

“No,” Reykejin replied. “That is why one should not seek to _save_ at all. Only the Force can end or begin or continue.”

“So what do _we_ do, twiddle our thumbs and wait to die?” Ben demanded dryly. Reykejin threw his head back to laugh. He often did that.

“Not exactly, you sarcastic barve,” he chuckled. “We _Learn,_ my student. We Learn how to hold as best we can the endless possibilities of who we could be and should be and are,” he cupped his hands again. “We build our shells; and wait for the Force to fill them. We live. While we can.”

Ben stared down at his own hands, limp. He could not say he had never heard Reykejin’s ideas before. He could not say they had ever appealed to him before he joined the Awaji. Still, he had to be contrary. It was part of his shell. “Sounds boring,” he snorted.

Reykejin leaned forward, clasped his hands in his lap. “Has anyone ever suggested to you that maybe you need to be bored a little more?”

In the Jedi, boredom was akin to idleness or neglect of duty. Ben’s mouth quirked at the corners. “No.”

“Ah. Consider me officially suggesting it to you then,” Reykejin tapped his temple. “Now come. There is much still to learn.”


	7. The One Where He is Home

Ben woke to a scolding. At first, he tensed, thinking the reprimand for him, but as the voice evened out into present and familiar, he realized he was no longer Learning. He was in the Hearth. Ben groaned, the strong smells of the hut making him nauseous. After so long out of his body, the new stableness was dizzying.

“Ben?” Someone whispered nearby. A large mass huddled over him. He let his crusted eyes flutter open; and smiled weakly.

“Amondi,” he breathed. She grinned, exposing white canines.

She squeezed his hand. “Welcome back.” Meanwhile, outside his cell-like room, Dema’tas was delivering a lecture that was harsh even by his standards.

“By the Force, Reykejin, don’t The Whills _eat_?” She shrieked.

“He’s only a tad malnourished,” Reykejin defended, but even he sounded sheepish.

“A _tad?”_ Dema’tas’ voice turned shrill with indignation. “He looks like a skeleton! You had him for months, did you eat in all that time?”

“I don’t _know_ Dema’tas, we were deep in the Force!”

“Mama,” Amondi called. “He’s awake.” A second later, he was being gently lifted from his tiny room into the living area by the Force. He allowed it to cradle him there and set him on the ground. More bodies floated above him. Kitra, Adaj, Dema’tas and Reykejin. The last of whom looked significantly _less_ happy to see him.

“Hello,” he greeted with a faint smile.

“Hey old man Ben,” Kitra teased.

“Ben, my poor chick,” Dema’tas cooed, stroking his forehead with one large and oily thumb. It felt nice, cooling. He leaned into the touch. “How do you feel?”

“Floaty,” he admitted.

“Reykejin,” Adaj rumbled worriedly. “Why is he feeling _floaty_?”

Reykejin crossed his arms over his chest sulkily. There were shadows beneath his eyes too, and someone had draped heavy quilts over his shoulders. From the ground, he looked like an overgrown child with a cold. “It’ll wear off.”

“How…” Ben had to clear his throat as the words tripped over themselves in his mouth. “H-how long have I b-been gone?”

“Great, now he’s lost track of days again,” Dema’tas snapped. “You’ve been gone for six months, Ben. I kept up your garden for you. There’s fresh food. Are you hungry?” He hummed affirmative and Dema’tas quickly jumped to her feet. Amondi and Kitra readjusted his heap of blankets. Ben stared into space, slowly reacquainting with his body.

Kitra studied him knowingly for a long second. “Tea?” She asked at last.

“Please,” she left. Amondi leaned in conspiratorially.

“The grushling’s have laid eggs and the chicks are hatched now,” she told him. “They waddle all over the lakes and their feathers fill the air. I’ll take you to see them when you’re stronger,” the grushling’s, though small and relatively calm animals, still have rows of razor-sharp fangs that were highly poisonous. _Technically,_ Ben and Amondi weren’t supposed to be near them _at all_.

But that was part of the fun. “I can’t wait.” Amondi’s rush of excitement tickled an answering smile from him.

“I missed you,” Amondi blurted, a faint flush decorating her cheeks beneath the fur. It must have been winter. Amondi’s fur was relatively hard to see during the warmer months. She had grown too, her pointy ears now jutting from her mane and her large eyes speckled with flecks of brown. Had she gotten older? “It hasn’t been the same since you departed.”

Something cozy sprouted in his chest. “I missed you too,” he admitted, and realized with a jolt how much. Adaj’s loud bellows of laughter, Dema’tas’ rambling in the morning, hikes with Amondi, Kitra’s jokes, the children, the elders, the storytelling, the hunts.

He had missed it all.

“I’ve brought you Oolong,” Kitra declared as she knelt beside him. She slipped a hand beneath his head, tilted it up so he could sip the lukewarm tea. It scalded his throat but tasted so good he only kept guzzling it down.

“This is _normal_. We do this to all our students,” Reykejin was grumbling.

“No wonder you have so few. They all starve,” Dema’tas growled, shoving her way past him so she could kneel beside Ben’s head. “Honestly, Reykejin, have you no sense? Look at what you’ve done to my chick.”

Ben smiled and relaxed into the mat beneath him. Never had he been tended too with such ferocity. If someone had shown fury on his behalf before, it was usually because of what he could offer as Jedi. He could not recall the last time he had been so coveted as a man. Still, Reykejin did not deserve this family’s _full_ wrath. “Dema’tas,” he peeped past a hoarse throat. “I’m alright.”

“You’re half-starved,” Adaj pointed out crossly.

There was no way to explain his training, the things he had learned about himself and the universe. “I’m… Better,” he promised. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“See?” Reykejin waved his hands as if possessed. “He’s fine!” Dema’tas did not look reassured. Amondi took the bowl from her mother’s hands before she could throw it over the older man’s head. Spooned the hearty broth into Ben’s mouth. For once, he felt no embarrassment at the tender attention.

“You aren’t to take him for _at least_ another year.”

“He has to finish his training.”

“He has to get some fat back onto his bones.”

“You just met him,” Reykejin muttered, eyes trailing Dema’tas as she fetched more food. Adaj clapped the other man on the shoulder, but he did not take his eyes off Ben’s every gulp. “He could have been a serial _murderer_ for all you know!”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind,” Kitra confided with a large grin. “As often as my brothers drive me insane, I think I could use the services of a serial killer,” The rest of the room’s occupants swiveled, eyes wide and more than a little discomfit trickling into The Force, but Ben just threw his head back and laughed.

“It’s good to be home.”


	8. The One of Prophecy

Ben spent seasons training.

It never went so far as sixth months again, probably because Reykejin feared Dema’tas wrath, but eventually Ben could frolic between Learning and the Hearth with relative ease.

The stifling fog and rocking ground vanished, replaced by an endless maze of shadows and life. He traversed learning from each corner and crevice. Most often, he was with Reykejin. Sometimes he was alone.

Today was such a day.

Ben was watching petals float easy and powerless to the ground, felt kinship with them. How easy it was to Fall, how powerless one was against the loathing that brought you down.

Perhaps he had judged the Sith too harshly. Dooku and Ventress… Even Sidious. Were they not all leaves in the wind, plucked by the gravitational pull of the Force? They all fell. To death. To hatred. To fear. To love.

_You did not have our permission._

Ben perked up. That was not a voice he recognized. He had never met others inside The Learning. The Awaji did not know the way.

He looked around, but there was nothing beyond the large floating karsts and tranquil mountains. _I asked, and you declined._ That was Reykejin.

_So you should have left well enough alone!_

_I couldn’t do that._

Was there a discussion happening? Ben rounded the craggly rock of the tiny trickling waterfall. There was another landscape beyond that, one like that of a desert. All white sand and murky air, mirage-like and unreal.

He squinted into the distance, could vaguely make out the shape of Reykejin kneeling before floating beings. Angels.

 _Why have you begun teaching this Jedi our ways?_ One of the angels bellowed. Ben gave a start. Were they talking about him?

 _You know what is out there,_ Reykejin insisted _. What awaits us as soon as The Dark Ones catch scent of us in the Force…._

_All things must die. You know this. Our fate belongs to the Force._

_How dare you try to shape it!_ Another added.

 _I didn’t bring him here to change our fate,_ Ben’s breath caught in his throat.

Sidious would surely kill them all. Didn’t they see? And if he destroyed The Whills, they would destroy the Awaji.

_He saved Skywalker. We foresaw that he wouldn’t. For the first time in millennia, we have been wrong. Doesn’t that strike you as a lesson from the Force?_

This seemed to intrigue the assembly. They muttered among themselves quietly. Ben struggled to hear what was said, but their ethereal voices were snatched by the wind.

_So what is this boy to you, a psychological experiment?_

That was a good question. If Ben’s destiny were not to save the Whills -the Awaji -then what was it? Why was he here, and in defiance of Reykejin’s fellow Whills at that?

 _No,_ Reykejin stood, and Ben could feel his gaze on the side of his head, even if Reykejin did not turn to look at him. _Not at all. The other Jedi we called -Jinn – he spoke of this one highly._

A scoff. _He spoke of a boy with great potential. That boy is dead._

 _It was said that He would need to die before fulfilling The Prophecy,_ Reykejin whispered. Silence.

 _You speak of the Prophecy of The Chosen One?_ Ben inhaled sharply _. We are not Jedi. We do not believe that a singular being can alter the very Force itself._

 _No being has any such power,_ Reykejin agreed _. But the ability to hold the line, as it were? That is very possible._

_You think he embodies The Light._

_With a little more training, he could be the single star left in the depths of black space._

Ben ran. He flung himself free of Learning until he was back in his own body. It was where he had left it, sitting in meditation pose on the beach. A tiny crab scuttled off his leg when he jolted awake.

Ben sat there for a long moment. The waves crashed against the shore. Droplets of salt were heavy in his beard. He gasped for breath.

Reykejin thought he was The Chosen One. He thought Ben was not meant to bring balance to the Force but hold possibility for it. He was meant to hold back the Dark by _being_ The Light.

It was impossible.

But what had Reykejin taught him? _“This is possibility,” he explained. “This void. It can be filled with anything, any combination of futures. But the possibility is greatly influenced by the shell,” he wiggled his fingers. “The strength of the shell determines the grandness of the possibility.”_

“I’m not strong enough,” Ben whispered. “I’m not.”

“If you thought you were, I wouldn’t have called you,” he swiveled to see Reykejin standing a few feet behind him, hands jammed into his cloak sleeves. He gave a sheepish, reluctant smile.

“You’re wrong about me!” Ben scrambled to his feet. “I’m not The Chosen One! I’m not the… The embodiment of Light! When you found me, I was _broken_!”

“In your defense,” Reykejin gave a half-shrug. “You hadn’t had a very easy couple of weeks.”

“I was about to Fall!” He roared, and the truth of it made him feel nauseous. He had wanted to die from fear of Falling, of feeling that everlasting grief forever. A wave crashed on the shore and nibbled at his bare toes in the wet sand.

“Light is the not the absence of Darkness,” Reykejin muttered, shaking his head. “It is the amplification of it into a greater purpose,” he came forward, cupped the back of Ben’s neck in a warm and crinkly palm.

“Had you never felt fear, despair, loss, hatred… You never would have been able to help those who were consumed by it. There is a good reason every Sith wants to destroy you, dear Ben. You are the key to their salvation,” His golden eyes bored into Ben. “I am sorry, my apprentice, but _you_ are destined to hold the Line.”


	9. The One Who Survived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for everyone suffering right now. Me too, buddy.

“Ben, should we tell the story of the Grundglings?” Amondi asked from center stage. Ben sat in the third row between Adaj and Kitra.

The night had stretched long with stories and jokes. Many of the little ones had been rocked to sleep in their mother’s arms, lulled by the firelight and good food.

Ben smiled up at her, but his heart clenched. He had ascended the stage a hundred times, seen smirks and smiles and shakes of the head. He could do it again.

But tonight, the Force was compelling another sacrifice from him.

“Again with this?” Lirami, Dema’tas’ mother demanded in her old, creaking voice. “You two ought to leave those poor animals alone.”

Amondi grinned. “We barely touched them!” She cried. There was a general commotion of disbelief at her statement. Ben met Reykejin’s gaze.

The old master was standing in the far back, a hood devouring most of his face in shadow. He gave a silent, reassuring nod.

“With your permission, Amondi, I think I’d like to tell a different story tonight.” He stood and started toward the stage.

“Oh, are you finally going to explain how you set fire to your beard four nights ago?” Dema’tas asked, perking up. Ben blushed.

“What?!” Kitra barked, laughing.

“No,” he confessed. He stepped onto stage, snagged Amondi and lifted her over his shoulder. She shrieked with laughter as he set her down next to her father. “Thank you. No, the story I would like to share tonight is about… About where I came from,” Silence. Even the fire quieted.

Ben felt the eyes of all drilling into him, curious. Some of the children startled awake at the silence, sat up to gaze at him groggily. Ben sat, because he was sure otherwise his knees would buckle from beneath him. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees. They were trembling. His voice shook.

But he went on. “Before I came here, I went by a different name,” he began slowly. “I was once known as Obi-wan Kenobi. Jedi Master. High General of the Republic Grand Army. The Sith-killer. Master of the Chosen One.”

Ben had expected the old flood of despair and rage when he revealed himself. None came. The man he was speaking of was… Different.

His chest constricted tightly, sadness dominant now. Multiple people gasped. Astonishment -and trickling’s of betrayal- came from the assembly. He did not look away. “You’re a Jedi!?”

He gave a nod. “Once. I have heard the way many of you speak of Jedi. Some of it is true,” he searched the Force for words. “The way I was raised, if someone needed your help, you helped them. No matter the cost. For generations, The Jedi lived this way, and did good work. Unfathomable work.”

Ben uncoiled the webs of Obi-wan Kenobi and the Jedi with painstaking care. There were moments when his voice could not hold the weight of a thousand generations, so he threw the image out over the Force.

The others caught it like raindrops, tasted it, let it run over their skins. He spoke stories he’d never expected to say aloud. Moments with Qui-gon Jinn or Garen. His secret affairs with Siri Tachi and Satine Kryze.

He admitted crimes that to a Jedi would have seemed paltry. Ben realized the folly in that. What society saw it as “part of their journey” when a fourteen-year-old was tortured? Or that, by the time he was nineteen, he had already killed more people than he could recall? At some point, they had believed themselves divinely chosen for an impossible task.

How _could_ they?

How _dare they?_

Ben told them of a slave boy named Anakin Skywalker.

How he had made Obi-wan inflate with pride at every new breath, about his hot-headedness, impulsiveness, and aggressiveness, also his kindness, passion, courageousness. About a secret marriage that Obi-wan, in his love, had ignored.

At a subtle prompting, he did not only unveil the blunders, but successes. Master Yoda chasing giggling younglings through the gardens. Madame Jocasta and her protection over the Archives. Bant’s army of Force healers, renowned for their gentleness and skill. Ahsoka’s frequent trips to the creche as a storyteller.

The excitement and admiration that filled the sparring halls when great masters would clash blades in a competition. The intimacy of the Clones who referred to each other as _brother._

The soft regard of master’s creating their Padawan’s Learner’s braid. The thrill of completing your lightsaber for the first time. The incredible people he’d met who _did_ stand for justice and equality.

Ben could almost _touch_ it so thick was the memory on his tongue. The beauty, harmony, _selflessness._ He was so immersed in them that he did not notice the tears that drew rivers down his cheeks, nor how his voice had grown hoarse with longing.

“The Jedi Order was arrogant, inflexible, and judgmental. I see that now. In our conceit, we tried to be everything to everyone. We had lost our way,” he finally whispered once he had laid bare the innards of his former family. He bowed his head.

“I-is that why you left?” Dema’tas asked. Ben scoffed.

Obi-wan Kenobi would never have _left_ on his own accord. “I didn’t leave. I survived,” he spat. He drew himself up, spine ramrodding into perfect meditation posture. He stared into the dark forest surrounding the village, weeping silently.

Anakin’s betrayal felt like thorns spouting from his gut. The village pitched deep into the shock with him. The Chancellor’s identity was a smoldering coal in his gums. Mustafar… He flung the truth out between sobs.

“Sixteen months, five hundred and seventy-nine days and twenty-five hours ago… Anakin Skywalker marched through the Jedi T-Temple, and s-s-slaughtered everyone, even the younglings in their cribs. I could not _bear_ the pain, so… I am here.”

Once again, he could not bear it. Ben sloped forward, unable to breathe past his shuddering agony.

His face crashed into a chiseled, breathing chest. Reykejin wrapped strong arms around him. The others crashed into them like a tide, Amondi at his back, Dema’tas on his side, Adaj under his arm, Kitra somewhere to the right and the rest of the Awaji amassed around them. Ben cried harder, thinking that his friends, his family in the Jedi had never felt this, never dreamed of such _compassion._

“Ben?” Reykejin whispered against his ear. “I am sorry for your loss, but you don’t have to bear it alone.”

Dema’tas pressed a kiss to his temple. “You _never_ have to be alone again.”


	10. The One Invited To Dinner

Ben stood haplessly in front of the simple wood door, slapping his thighs nervously.

This was not the first time he had been to Kitra’s home, but it was the first time he had been outside since revealing his old identity. Kitra, like many humans on Awajira, lived in wooden cabins. It had a single large room, separated by layers of curtain. He hadn’t supposed Kitra might… cut ties with him after his admission, but Ben admittedly squirmed in his skin anyway. He felt as if he had stripped in the sun.

But night was falling, and he could smell the tomato basil soup inside. So, he let his Presence shine again in the Force, and knocked twice. Kitra’s youngest brother answered. “Hello Jasu,” he smiled. Jasu, at fifteen standard, flashed a mouth full of white teeth.

“Ben!” He cried. “Come on, come on! We’re all waiting!”

Ben had never joined them for dinner, but he recognized each of Kitra’s brothers at once. Ben sat in one of the chairs that Opiyar, the second eldest at twenty-six, had carved with his bare hands. The two chairs at the head of the table were noticeably empty. Kitra’s parents were long dead, though he did not know all the details.

Opiyar, Jasu, Gemen had a small dinner each night and their likenesses always made Ben wonder about his own birth family. Opiyar and Gemen had skin the color of brown sugar, with curly auburn hair. Jasu and Kitra had skin like milk chocolate, with sweeping black hair.

Opiyar was married with a family elsewhere, but his husband was Mon Cala. He needed a dip in the nearby river before sleeping, and in the time Opiyar visited his family. Gemen was nineteen, and so his lanky body reminded Ben of a colwar when he ducked beneath a curtain holding a steaming pot with the Force.

“Ben is here!” Jasu announced.

“So I see,” Gemen grumbled in his low, melodious voice. He flashed Ben a grin.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked. Gemen rolled his eyes.

“My sister needs some help, though she won’t admit it!” He called over his shoulder. Ben stood at once and dipped into the kitchen to see Kitra kneeling beside the fire oven, trying to hold a pan of garlic bread with one hand while also easing a second pan out with the Force. Her dark brows were furrowed with concentration. She didn’t look as if she needed assistance to him. Then he noticed the trembling jug of water floating behind her.

He nabbed it just as the pitcher dipped precariously. “Hey, I needed that to drop!” Kitra teased, rising. “My brothers need to learn a thing or two about cleaning up _after themselves_!” Ah. Ben arched a brow and released his hold.

The pitcher crashed with a clang. He and Kitra exchanged a smile. “Ah, man! Ben!” Jasu groaned from the other room. Opiyar laughed. Gemen rolled his eyes so dramatically Ben could hear the squelch of his eyelids. Ben relaxed. Kitra’s house was always lively, if anything, yet the rivers of love and strength still thumbed robust against his pulse.

Kitra waltzed past him with the bread. “Boys, if you would be so kind?” She wondered, jerking her head. Gemen and Jasu pouted rebelliously.

“I’ll help,” Ben offered. “I’m the one who dropped it after all.”

So they cleaned. When the water had been sopped up from the wooden floor and the world righted, they took their seats at the table again. Kitra’s comedic spirit was strong in the family. She didn’t speak much, but Gemen and Jasu cracked jokes and teased everyone at the table mercilessly. Opiyar’s humor was subtler. He and Ben passed private jokes back and forth between bites. Kitra was master of the night, interrupting with quips and side-splitting reactions every so often.

“Ok, ok, I need to ask,” Gemen finally snorted after they had finished the last loaf of garlic bread. “What does it look like, the place where Reykejin takes you for Learning?”

“It’s different every time,” Ben replied, surprised that he had not been asked about his old life as a Jedi. The topic sat in his peripheral, a shadow haunting his every word. “Sometimes, it’s a volcano, at other times a peaceful meadow.”

“Do you see dead people?” Jasu asked eagerly. Ben chuckled.

“Not yet,” he said with a wink.

Opiyar’s deep brown eyes dug into his own, cautious. “Do you ever see the Jedi Temple?”

Ben’s blood froze. “No,” he knew instantly that this was his next lesson. Opiyar was an empath. In another life, he would have made for a skilled mind-healer.

“You must miss it,” he whispered. Ben shrugged.

“I’m happy here,” he assured them sincerely. “Besides, the Jedi had a saying; old sins cast long shadows.”

“Our father used to say something like that before he died,” Kitra reminisced, and Ben dipped his head in thanks for the offering. Pain for pain, a secret for a secret. “He said that those who cannot move past the mountain will be swallowed in the avalanche.”

“He also said that the people who laugh most live longest,” Opiyar added impishly.

“That is _most_ assuredly true,” Ben agreed. “Master Yoda, the oldest of us all, used to play with the younglings. You could find him hiding spiders in the council chambers or trying to startle unsuspecting Jedi. He’s over a thousand years old,” this time, the words came easily and felt closer. As if maybe he was reciting a story told to him by a brother rather than a stranger. 

“I want to live a thousand years!” Jasu whooped. “I’m going to be the first to see _all_ the stars!” Even that did not hurt, and Ben felt some hope that maybe one day, surrounded by these people and their boundless love, he could move out from beneath the mountain.


	11. The One with a Teacup

“Do you remember the first time you felt the Force, _truly_ mastered it?” Reykejin asked.

Obi-wan popped one eye open, disturbed rom his trance-like meditation. In Learning, each touch with the Force felt like the first time. The awe, the power, the undivided magnitude of it washed over him like a raging tide.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I think I was fourteen or so.”

“No doubt you were in some kind of terrible danger,” Reykejin said dryly. Ben let his bitterness pass him like a scarf caught by a draft. He had grown accustomed to these subtle jabs at the Jedi on his behalf. Dema’tas cursed their ways at least three times a day. “But for our next lesson, you will need to reconnect with the Force like that again.”

Ben blinked. Mastering the Force was difficult for any Force-user, mainly because no one could conceivably _master_ the Force. Rather, you had to let it master you. “I suppose it was too much to ask to think I’d already mastered it by being here,” he said. After all, they had both projected their conscious into the netherworlds of the Force. So far as Ben had known, that was only possible during brief stints, and happened usually during a Trial of the Spirit. Yet he’d been in this state for months.

Reykejin smiled. Ben sighed and bowed his head. He tried to release all his own wants and agendas, worries and awareness. It was difficult. His entire life he had been trained to use the Force to be _aware._ “You’re only a rock in the river of the Force,” Reyekejin coached, in the low, soothing voice he had used to lure Ben here in the first place. “You must stop trying to control where the current takes you. The water will beat you down, but it is up to you to decide in which shape. Feel where the Force enters you, in all your cracks and fissures. Feel its pressure around your shell.”

 _I haven’t finished building my shell_ , he wanted to say. But that wasn’t the point. Reykejin had taught him that a shell was a constantly evolving creation, always chipped and growing. Though the hand was strong, there were still cracks between the fingers.

_Obi-wan, train the boy._

A crack. A promise.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

A fissure between what he wants and what he knows.

_You never have to be alone again._

The thread binding his broken pieces together.

_I am with the Force and the Force is with me._

“Always,” Reykejin agreed. “Do not focus inwards, Ben. The answers are not _inside_ you, they are _beyond_ you. In the river.”

“I’m a rock, remember, how am I supposed to know what’s out there?” He snipped. He had probably been spending too much time with Amondi if he was deploying his wit in such an extreme setting. Reykejin did not look amused.

“Perhaps you’re not ready for this,” he sighed.

“Perhaps not,” Ben tapped his chin. He’d had to shave it down again, by virtue of the coming spring. “It would help if I knew what I was supposed to be learning.”

Reykejin did not like giving answers. He was much better versed in the skill of creating puzzles. He stood, and the glittering flow of his Force presence followed him up. He gestured for Ben to follow. They traversed an epic mountain-top, thin-aired and dotted with random bits of green. “The same lesson I taught the last Jedi to Learn here. How to retain your essence when you join the Force.”

“The last…” Ben wracked his memory. “Qui-gon?”

A nod. “That’s not possible. You cannot remember yourself when you are in the Force. You lose your shell!” Ben cried. Reykejin smiled and turned his face toward the sun spilling in from the clouds. A few petals brushed past his face. Like this, he looked young.

“How young you are,” he chuckled. “Not necessarily, Ben. You lose your body, but we are not this gross matter, as you know,” he arched his brows meaningfully at him. They had both left their bodies behind, in the Hearth.

“How?” Ben demanded.

“Is a fish not part of its environment, though it is not made of water?” Ben did his best to express his dubiety in the Force. “You saw Qui-gon Jinn on Mortis,” he pointed out.

“That was a hallucination!” Ben gawked at Reykejin’s blank stare. “Wasn’t it?”

“Did he always ask these many questions?” Reykejin inquired of the nothingness behind him. Ben narrowed his eyes.

“Who are you talking too?”

“You’d be able to see if you focused _on the river_ ,” Reykejin replied, with a devilish grin.

Ben took the challenge. With a harrumph, he swiveled on his heel, so his back was to Reykejin. He took up his customary spot in the blazing lifeways of the galaxy. The one the Force had created for him at the coalescing of his cells inside his mother’s stomach, the one which felt like a soft bed and a raging storm at once.

Then he tore at the pliable walls of that place. He ripped the feathers from his bed and punctured the walls, let the waters carve deep tunnels into his identity until he was taken by the current. He did not fight it or try to steer himself clear of the bank. Whatever the Force did with him, Ben no longer existed as a separate piece of the river, no longer himself.

He was the bank, the waters, the fish, the skies, the stars. And somewhere, deep in the mud of that which was himself and not himself, he heard a voice which would have sent chills up his spine if he had not felt him so close.

“Obi-wan, I never had a doubt you’d make it here,” Qui-gon Jinn’s eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled. “It’s been too long.”


	12. The Ones yet to be Burned

Ben was surrounded by ghosts these days.

It was quite the transition; to be gardening one quiet dawn when suddenly a two-thousand-year old Jedi appeared over his shoulder instructing him on the intricacies of growing pumpkin. Reykejin, notably, thought it was hilarious.

After a few days, Ben begged Reykejin to show him how to close himself off to this power, and they spent weeks practicing the art of building a shield between him and the Cosmic Force. Indeed, he was so absorbed with his Learning that he didn’t even notice anyone acting strange in the village.

Not until Storytelling Day came around, and he noticed that the customary stage had not been built. “What’s going on here?” He asked Amondi that day, walking past a deep pit which had been dug in its stead. Amondi glanced at it.

“Oh, we’re celebrating,” she replied flippantly.

“Celebrating what?” In the two years that Ben had spent amongst the Awaji, he had yet to see them hold a ritual of celebration. Even the birth of children did not garner such a large fuss.

“Or, maybe not celebrating,” Amondi rephrased quickly. “More like… Honoring some people tonight, with a fire.”

“I don’t understand,” Ben admitted. To his knowledge, no one had died within the village, nor did The Awaji believe in individual prizes. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. You’ll see tonight when the pit is finished being dug,” Amondi promised. She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go. My father told me about a new trail that some of the wild cats have created. We can go see if we’ll find any kits,” Amondi’s grin, so large and reckless in her face, was like a sunbeam, illuminating every spare inch of doubt in his soul until he was aglow with her special brand of regard. 

With her, he did not feel broken. Only like Ben.

So he followed her into the forests. They did not come close enough to see the kits, but they heard their whines, and Ben whistled low to calm the mothers who hissed at them. Night was beginning to fall when they skid back to the village, their tunics splattered with mud. A light drizzle had begun. They shielded themselves with the Force.

“This rain will make it hard to keep a fire going,” Amondi complained. Ben cocked his head. He could sense the villagers congregating in the square. Probably around the fire pit he had seen earlier.

“For the ceremony?” He asked. Amondi nodded.

“We should join the others,” she suggested. Her ears twitched, a sign of nervousness. Ben didn’t need it. He had already sensed her unease in the Force.

“What is it?” He demanded, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Amondi?” Her smile up at him was tremulous.

“You’ll see, Ben,” she pulled him along into the crowd. At least three months’ worth of firewood for the entire village had been tossed into the pit, conjuring monstrous flames despite the rain. The Awaji stood at the edges, humming lowly. Ben had heard the song before. It was a popular lullaby. 

_“May the Force be always with you. Wishing you glory, mercy when there are mountains you can’t move…_ _As the sun rises in the east, and the stars dot the sky, I will always love you. I let go of my claim on you, free your spirit.”_

“What is this?”

“Their funeral pyre,” Ben jumped in front of Amondi, startled by the closeness of the voice, but it was only Reykejin, his dark cloak doused rainwater. Ben was about to demand why the ancient master was merely _letting_ himself be soaked, when Reykejin’s words caught up to him. His knees went weak.

“What?” He squeaked.

Then Dema’tas was making her way through the circle toward him, Adaj close on her heels. “Reykejin told us that when a Jedi died, it was their custom to honor those fallen with a funeral pyre. We wanted to bid them a proper goodbye,” she clarified.

_“May the Force always be with you. Wishing you glory, mercy when you come to mountains you can’t move…”_

“Wh… You do?” He gasped.

“Yes,” Adaj nodded. “We may not agree with everything the Jedi did, but we know they were noble and selfless and tried to preserve peace as much as they could. Courage like that deserves respect.”

“I… I don’t know what to say…”

“We may not have their bodies, but we erected this to burn in their stead,” Amondi held up a large wooden board. On it was carved a soft flower, its buds just opening as if to accept spring rain. Inside the bud was the symbol of the Jedi Order, its sharp contours a stark contrast to the gentle plant. He recognized Opiyar’s handiwork. Ben swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes burned with tears.

Their bodies were probably rotting somewhere in the Temple and around the galaxy, trampled into the dirt of a thousand planets and it was wrong. It was wrong. It was _wrong._ “Hold on,” he whispered. “I have something,” he ran back to his room; and cradled the lightsaber of Obi-wan Kenobi. His heart trembled.

When he returned, the Awaji had fallen silent. “This… This was my lightsaber…” Ben explained. The Awaji stepped aside, allowing him clear passage to the flames. He pressed a kiss to the surface.

“Are you sure?” Reykejin whispered into his ear. Ben lifted the saber with the Force; and lowered it into the searing flames slowly. Amondi tossed in the memorial after it.

“Thank you,” he gasped, watching the monuments melt. “I… I know they would have appreciated this.” Amondi hugged his arm. Adaj wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Demat’as squeezed his right hand and Reykejin his left. Around them the Awaji began to sing again, and this time Ben joined them.

“May the Force be always with you. Wishing you glory, mercy when there are mountains you can’t move… As the sun rises in the east, and the stars dot the sky, I will always love you. I let go of my claim on you, free your spirit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they sing is based off "Godspeed," By Frank Ocean. I listened to it while writing this scene and cried the entire time.


	13. The One She Hears

Mother’s screamed loudest. Ben knew this from experience. Of all the screeches, hollers, yammers and whimpers in the galaxy, those whose shrieks tore through the very Force itself was that of mothers.

_On a backwater planet in the mid-rim, they wouldn’t stop screaming. Even when the stormtroopers fired into their mouths, and the sounds turned to gurgling drowns, they still screamed._

_There was a man with Amondi’s eyes, the glass of his gaze caught in a fiery maelstrom of a bomb. He was blown to pieces, and he didn’t even have time to hear his loved ones scream his name because he was already gone._

_Multiple Holy sites and temples burned across the galaxy, their idols and hope-springs trampled into dust, their legions of followers pounding against the melting walls of a place they’d called home to escape the reaching flames._

Ben surged upwards, gasping. Sweat beaded his brow, and his heart hammered in his chest. The vision had not been his, though. The one who saw these things was squirming in bed. He could hear her murmurs of distress through the wall. Ben scrambled to his feet and across the hall to Amondi’s room. With a wave of the hand, the door cracked open and he knelt above her.

“Amondi. Amondi, wake up,” he urged, shaking her shoulders. Amondi’s back arched. She made a high-pitched yowling noise, like a wounded feline. Her pointed ears twitched agitatedly. He saw the tips of her fingers extending and retreating, the sharp gleam of claws catching bits of light from the candle he’d brought.

Ben was reminded, once again, of their difference in species. But he hugged her close, pressed her furry head to his chest. “You’re here,” he whispered, again and again. After a moment, Amondi jolted in his arms.

“Wh…? Ben?!” She gasped. There were tears streaking down her face. He swiped them away with a thumb.

The Force around her was like a snowstorm, freezing and intent to beat him to the ground. He tried to project warmth, safety, _sunlight._ It thawed through her dread. Amondi hiccupped on a sob, fisting his tunics in her hands. “Ben…” She whimpered. “I saw… I saw… Terrible things, _horrible_ crimes, Ben…”

“I know,” he shushed her, maneuvering them so that he could lean against the wall, still holding her tight against his body. He fumbled for a blanket, wrapped it around them both. “You were projecting.”

“I… Was it a vision?”

He sighed. “I fear so. You saw The Empire,” Amondi shuddered violently and tightened her hold around his waist.

“Dark Ones?”

“No, just the minions of the Dark Ones,” not for the first time, Obi-wan wondered whether Anakin and his family were still safe. “It’s fine now, Amondi. We’re safe. The Empire doesn’t know that the Awaji exist, and everyone outside this place thinks The Whills are just an old myth.”

“We’re safe, Ben, but what about _them_!” Amondi demanded. She squirmed out of his grasp, sitting up to glare at him with narrowed eyes. “People are being slaughtered! I saw them! I felt their agony! Why isn’t anyone helping them?”

That was a complicated question. Ben decided to focus on the core of her distress. He cocked his head. “Who are you truly worried about?” He asked. Amondi fell silent. “I saw the man in your vision,” he broached, gently. “He had your eyes.”

It was obvious that Amondi was adopted. Dema’tas and Adaj couldn’t safely have children of their own, but he had wondered what happened to her birth parents. “I am not trying to pry,” he promised. “I just sense fear in you. Anger, and it is not completely on behalf of those the Empire is killing.”

“They left me,” Amondi blurted, brows furrowed. She did not meet his gaze. Instead, she crossed her arms, pressed her back to his chest and glowered at a corner. “I was two-years-old. I don’t remember them much. They had visions, too. It kept them up at night. One day, they left. No one knows where they got a ship, but they left me. We all felt their deaths.”

“But you _saw_ their deaths,” he realized, with a pang of sadness.

A sniffle. “Yes. They were all alone… Why didn’t anyone _help_ them?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “If they went out there without allies, it might have been no one knew they were in danger. Or did not see any reason to endanger themselves on their behalf,” it was not the answer she wanted, he could sense. It was the only one he had.

Amondi turned just enough to peer at him from beneath lashes heavy with tears. “You said the Jedi helped anyone, regardless of the cost,” she peeped. Ben released a slow breath. “Did… Did the Jedi call people, as The Whills do? Did they call my parents?”

“No,” her shoulders unwound. “No, The Jedi only collected younglings. I don’t think anyone even knew _how_ to call individuals in the Force if they weren’t bonded to them.”

“I love Adaj and Dema’tas,” Amondi said. “Just… I wish I knew why they left,” Ben nodded. “Thank you for waking me,” she started to unwrap the blanket. “You can go back to sleep.” As if he was going to leave her there. Ben stood, offered his hand.

“I have a better idea. Come with me,” they journeyed out of the hut into the biting winter air. He huddled beneath the blanket and plopped in front of the door. The sky was alive with stars, each a burning life in the Force. Amondi knelt beside him. “I know you know the constellations,” he told her. “But do you want to know which stars I’ve visited?”

Amondi’s eyes widened. “You’ve been to all those planets!?” She demanded, waving at the sky. He chuckled.

“Not all. But you see that one? That’s Rishi, home of the Togruta colonists. You’d have loved their society. They were pacifists, artists, musicians… They made the most beautiful music…”


	14. The One Deserving

He and Qui-gon were discussing the imminent fate of the galaxy again. “The girl has visions. As you did,” Qui-gon said, as Obi-wan balanced precariously on a large log. It was covered in a thin sheen of translucent ice. The roaring river below him was now frozen over by winter.

“I don’t have to remind you that visions are rather _common_ for Force-sensitives?” He asked, watching his breath float away sluggishly, held immobile by the freezing air. The forest was quieter than usual, most of the forests’ inhabitants sleeping in dens.

“Her parents were very strong in the Unifying Force.” Qui-gon pretended to walk beside him. The fact that he was floating gave away his status as dead.

“Ah, do you know what happened to them?” he glanced to the side. Qui-gon flashed an apologetic smile. Ben scoffed. “You haven’t changed at all, Qui-gon.”

“I think it’s possible I miss you more now than I ever did when I was alive.”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Ben supposed. “Anyway, I’m more concerned about the meaning of her vision. If Sidious has already begun conquering planets in the mid-rim…”

“I thought you weren’t meddling in the affairs of others anymore?” Qui-gon interrupted, sounding as if he could not care one way or the other.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t stay _up-to-date,”_ he groaned at Qui-gon’s dubious hum. “What?”

“I received the same training as you did Obi-wan…”

“I wish you would call me Ben,” he begged, for at least the eightieth time. Once more, Qui-gon ignored him. Again, he hadn’t changed much.

“And I returned to the Jedi. I still tried to do good within the ranks of the Order,” he finished, phrasing the argument as if it were a simple case of factual events. It was an old Jedi trick. Ben’s lips curled.

“It might have helped that you had a Jedi Order to return too,” he pointed out dryly. “If you hadn’t noticed, my former apprentice slaughtered them all.”

“Ah yes,” Qui-gon came to a halt. Ben stopped in the middle of the log, used the Force to keep him from slipping sideways to the thin ice of the river. “Perhaps I should spend less time nagging you and more time apologizing,” he said.

“Whatever for?”

Qui-gon’s smile hadn’t changed either. It was deceivingly shuttered behind thick walls of sorrow, his joy trembling far from the surface, where it could not be harmed. If Ben hadn’t been able to feel it, he might have assumed the sadness was _because_ of him instead of _for_ him. “Well, among other things, the boy.”

He blinked. “Anakin?”

“I know that I hurt you when I tried to take him as my apprentice,” Ben tried to remember the last time he had thought about that day. He couldn’t even recall everything that had happened. The pain was nothing more than a passing pinch now, a dull thing compared to every other grief and loss. He shrugged.

“I wasn’t particularly offended by that. I was a bit… Stunned, I suppose, that you tried to take him while I was still your apprentice without consulting me first. However, I forgave you a long time ago.”

“I know,” Qui-gon sighed. “That is my ultimate crime. I _knew_ you’d come to forgive me, and I always depended on that. I took advantage of your pure nature to pursue my own agendas, even when I knew the effect it would have on you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I took advantage of your reputation to remind The Jedi Council why my shenanigans during The Clone Wars weren’t all _that_ bad,” Qui-gon laughed. Ben smiled. “I appreciate the gesture, Qui-gon, but… I am at peace with the ways our relationship impacted my life. For all your faults, you were still like a father to me.” _And I am still grateful for your teachings._ There may have been others more suited to train him, but Obi-wan wouldn’t have traded his time with Jinn for anything. Neither would Ben. 

“And you like a son to me,” The Force warmed with sincerity. It made him blush. Qui-gon’s resounding affection was embarrassing. “It was always easier for you to forgive others, Padawan.”

He hopped from the log, finally. The ground crunched beneath his warm winter boots. “What do you mean?”

“Have you forgiven _yourself_?” Ben stumbled over a ditch in the path. The front had crystallized into snow here. He inhaled deeply a world being slowly frozen. Felt an answering pang in the desolation of his heart.

“You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid,” he whispered. Qui-gon rounded on him.

“Have you forgiven yourself for the impact you’ve had on this galaxy?” He demanded. Ben did not meet his ghostly gaze.

“I should have known Palpatine was a Sith,” he murmured. “I should never have let him near Anakin. I shouldn’t have looked the other way when Anakin showed signs of… Imbalance. I should have… Have _argued_ with the Council more. I should have told The Kaminoans to _stop_ …”

“Is that why you haven’t opened your heart fully to others again? You’re afraid of what impact you’ll have on them.”

“I am merely adapting to the culture here,” Ben snapped. He kicked at a pile of leaves. “The Awaji do not believe in sticking your nose into everyone’s business just because you have The Force.”

“I know that. What do _you_ believe?”

Ben was tired of questions. He wanted _answers_. “What do you want from me?”

“I do not have the right to want anything from you. But, in the depths of my soul, there are things I want _for_ you, my dear friend. Happiness, peace, love. I want you to have mercy on yourself for more than five minutes,” at his confused stare, Qui-gon smiled. His presence began to vanish, swept away back into the cosmic life Force. “Think about it.”

“I have,” Ben said to the emptiness when he’d gone. “And I know I don’t deserve those things.”


	15. The One Tiny Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for these late posts! I'm in the process of moving and it is stressful. This chapter is inspired by this dance on Youtube, if you'd like a visual of Kitra in the air.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2nf7mCyOcU

Kitra was powerful. Ben had always known this.

Who else had the ability to reduce a crowd of over forty people to hysterical laughter within minutes? Who else could poke and prod at the wounds people hid, only to have them smile and allow her to wiggle through? Ben had met a great many powerful beings in his life, but he had rarely met a woman like Kitra. She used humor as a deflector, wit as a mirror, laughter as medicine, kindness to strike the killing blow.

He’d never seen her dance.

As a dancer, that power was stripped bare to make way for grace, for strength, for _pain._ He could see it sweltering in her every muscle. Each swirl was a storm of rage, every jab of the foot a blow to the spine, every wave of the arm enough to lift planets to their feet. He didn’t mean to stare, but he was caught in the haze of her movements, so precise and quick it could have been kata. In fact, he was relatively sure that some of her moves _were_ lightsaber technique. She would have made for a fantastic Ataru fighter.

He’d noticed that she was acting strange the past few days. In fact, her entire family was usually more… Subdued this time of year.

Adaj had explained that this was when the family leaders -their parents – died. No one had explained how. Judging from the force of Kitra’s dance, it had not been a painless death.

She had tied her deep black hair into a ponytail. Now that he was closer, he could see strands of silver starting to protrude from her scalp. He inhaled sharply. Kitra had always seemed… Decades younger than he was.

Then she jumped; and began to _fly._ Her control of the Force was certainly not that of a young woman. She used it to soar in the air, dancing while suspended, as if a series of ropes held her but it was only the Force. And she did indeed resemble a hawk, swooping to snatch handfuls of snow and dirt and flinging them as she spun and spun around an invisible axis.

Kitra suddenly dropped. Landed on both feet in the snow. Her blazing presence, hidden under a thick coat of furs and humor and skin, was suddenly revealed to him.

She reached up and removed the blindfold around her eyes (she had been blinded this _entire_ time?) and opened deep brown eyes. His breath caught in his throat as she spotted him. For a moment, they said nothing. Ben painfully aware that he had probably intruded on what was a very private moment, Kitra aware of his awareness.

Her cheekbones suddenly seemed sleeker, sharper; her forehead crinkled with maturity. “Did you need something?” Kitra asked smoothly.

They were alone on the beach after all. The ocean was one continuous pile of slush spread out to the horizon. The sand and dirt were frozen solid. She was barefoot, he now realized.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I came to see if you were alright. You’ve been… Quiet, lately.”

“You know why,” Kitra replied. She called her boots to her hand with a flick of the Force. “I know Dema’tas told you.”

Her parents. Yes.

“Not everything,” he shook his head, lest she think her privacy was in danger. “But that doesn’t matter to me. You’re a skilled dancer.”

She pulled on her boots. “I know.”

“It… You reminded me of my teachers…” he looked away. “In the Jedi. When they fought, they looked like that. The great Masters,” Kitra relaxed slightly.

“I didn’t know Jedi danced,” she teased, lightly. She extended a hand. “Let’s see what you got.” Ben snorted.

“I do _not_ dance,” he replied.

“But you can.”

“Not like you,” he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I was trained to use my body to fight. Not… Not…” He waved a hand at her. “That.”

“Then re-train it,” Kitra commanded. She cocked a finger. “Come here. I’m in a sharing mood.”

“Your sharing mood feels more like you’re preparing to decapitate me,” he protested feebly, as she nabbed his arm and yanked him to her side.

“Feel the Force,” she instructed as they stood shoulder to shoulder. “You know how to manipulate your body. You know how to work with a partner.”

“This is a bit different,” he pointed out, trying to hide behind sarcasm. Kitra, as he had seen her without her guards, was determined to strip him of his. As such, she ignored him.

“This is Un-Learning. It’s supposed to be different. Put your hand here. Yes, on my shoulder Ben. Now move as I do. Copy me,” he did. He was clumsy where Kitra was confident. He stumbled like a child just learning to walk, tripped over her feet quite a few times, cursed even more.

“It’s a conversation, Ben,” Kitra scolded. “Not a fight.”

“All I know how to do is _fight_ ,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

“I see that,” Kitra agreed. “Think of it this way: You’re on the storytelling stage. Tell me a story,” that made more sense that uselessly flopping about.

So Ben did. Without words, he dipped beneath Kitra, releasing his hold on her, and fought. He switched between Ataru and Soresu, moving slower than he would have in a battle. There were no words he could have used to explain, so he only repeated in his mind the words of The Father.

_“You do not know what pain it is to have such love for your children, yet to know they could tear the very fabric of this universe.”_

Somewhere, Ben was aware of Kitra moving with him, a response and story of her own. She flew. He fought. The story ended the same, with loss and rage and guilt and shame and them, reluctantly alive, still screaming silent tears to a Force which was no nursemaid.


	16. The One From the Battlefield

They all felt the disturbance. It came in the middle of the day, with all the steaming subtlety of a raging Bantha herd. It could have been a shooting star, but Ben had seen these sorts of stars before. 

By unspoken agreement, the hunters skipped lunch to investigate, and Ben’s blood ran cold.

 _“The Empire,”_ He’d whispered, staring at the smoking remains of a crashed ship. “ _They found me.”_

But the crew hadn’t been there for him at all. It was a small ship, containing Admiral Piett, three storm troopers and an enslaved droid. A paltry party easily subdued by the Force-yielding hunters.

It was a one in a million chance that they had survived the two black holes and growing star to reach Awajira. They had been paraded into the village. Ben had rekindled some old Jedi knowledge to disarm them, keep them unconscious and compliant.

He had not been thanked for his efforts.

Now, he knelt between Reyekejin and Amondi. Adaj and Dema’tas sat in front of them. Kitra and her brothers just slightly behind, to the left.

Ben didn’t always know why he kept track of her now, but he did know that she did the same to him. They had a bond, one forged with the echoes of similar screams.

For now, she smiled and joked with her brothers as the village waited for the elders to ascend the stage. Large decisions were debated by the elders for all to observe.

Ben’s heart hammered in his ribs. Reykejin was silent, eyes closed, conferring with the Force. Amondi was siting so close to him that their shoulders touched.

The villagers quieted when the last elder took their seats in decrepit chairs. “We all know what has happened here,” Denali, one of the Togrutan elders, declared. “Outsiders have crashed on Awajira. The Whills did not Call them. We must decide how to proceed from here.”

“It is obvious,” Ojenno, the large Besalisk with sparkling eyes like Dex (what had ever happened to his old friend, anyway?) harrumphed. “These outsiders have done us no harm. We should show hospitality; and assist them in being on their way.”

“They’ve not done us harm _yet_ ,” Oshella, a Bival, argued. “What do we know of these men?”

“Nothing,” Ben felt accusing eyes land on him. “They were knocked out by brutish Force. They have yet to wake,” he tipped his chin defiantly.

“They are Empire troops,” his voice rang out across the square. The elders’ disapproval was hot in the Force. Ben did not back down. “They serve the Dark One who orchestrated The Clone War. The one who ordered the murders of the Jedi Order.”

“Willingly?” Ojenno challenged. Ben dipped his head in acquiescence. He knew Sidious did not give out choices for servitude. “There. See? We have no evidence proving these men mean us harm. We should treat them as brothers.”

 _No!_ Ben wanted to scream.

Denali hummed. “I’m not so sure,” she said. “If Ben is correct, and these men serve The Dark One, letting them go could put us all in jeopardy.”

“What other choice do we have? To keep them here against their _will_?” Semantis hissed from the far side of the stage, his set of three eyes wide with disgust.

“The Awaji are learners, true students of the Force. We have never played the role of warden. Whatever crimes these men may have committed, we are not responsible for judging them,” Ben and Reykejin exchanged a glance.

“We’ve never used prisons on our own people. It’s barbaric,” Oshella pondered. “Why would we do it with these beings?” Ben’s fingers scraped against the skin of his knees when he clenched his fists.

“Ben,” Amondi leaned over to whisper. “I’ve seen those men before…”

He snapped his head around to stare at her. “Where?”

She bit her bottom lip. “In my visions. They stood over innocent people… And killed them.”

 _No. No. Not again_.

Ben surged to his feet, ignoring the gasp of surprise from those near him. “Listen to me,” he pleaded. “We must not let those men step foot off Awajira. They will reveal our location to Darth Sidious. He will send troops to destroy everyone!”

“Sit down, Ben!” Juro, a human elder, shouted. He wrapped his cane against the ground, but Ben had backed down from authority before and lost _everything._ He squared his shoulders.

“None of you have stepped outside Awajira in generations,” he pointed out, waving at the serene and peaceful village. “You do not know what it’s like out there. You cannot feel the Darkness in the Force, but I have seen. I have _known_ war! These men will do nothing but bring that bloodshed and despair here!”

“Then so be it!” Juro stood as well, eyes spitting flame. “We are _not_ Jedi! We do not play the part of deities. We know that our lives are no larger than the leaves which must tumble from the trees every winter! All things die!”

“But not all things must be extinguished!” Ben threw his hand sup in exasperation. “It will not be death, it will be _massacre!_ Is that what you want? To be slaughtered because you were too stubborn to change?” he looked around, desperately searching for a hint of defiance, or rebelliousness, but the Awaji were as Obi-wan Kenobi had been.

Too damn loyal for their own good.

Denali cocked her head. “All in favor of releasing them, stand,” she called.

The others on the stage shuffled to their feet, eyeing him as if he were a pitiful and rather traumatized puppy. Ben felt as if he were watching The Temple burn all over again.

“It’s decided then,” Denali sighed, the only one still in her seat. “When they wake, they go free. May the Force be with us All.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All species can be looked up on Star wars.com


	17. The One of Bold Ideas

“Grandfather?” Juro glanced up at the summons. His eyes skipped over Ben, unimpressed, before landing with great fondness on Kitra. His out-house was tiny, single-roomed, with a ceiling high enough to be a haven for bats and birds. Ben knew because he could hear them twittering above, comfortable for the winter.

“Ah, grand-daughter. You look more beautiful by the day. What do you need? Tea?” Ben might have laughed if his mission weren’t so dire. Kitra’s mouth quirked at the corners, but she waved away the offering.

“No thank you. May we sit?” she gestured to the small meditation mats and ground table before him. He was reading a worn book. Ben skimmed the cover. _The Politics of the Old Republic._

“You two aren’t getting married, are you?” Juro demanded in a tone which indicated that he absolutely did _not_ give his blessing if this were the case.

“No,” Ben replied, ignoring the way Kitra’s cheeks bloomed red and his heart skipped a beat.

“Oh good,” Juro nodded, relieved. He nodded. “Sit. You’re quite the Seeker, Ben,” he said once they had knelt, Kitra sitting on the side of the table between them, a mediator. Ben sat directly across from the elder. “You come here years ago, barely able to feed yourself, and now you’re speaking up during Elder’s Decisions,” he took a sip of his own lukewarm tea. “Very interesting.”

“I intended no disrespect…”

Juro snorted around the side of his mug. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“But I’ve lost one family. I’m not eager to lose another,” Juro’s eyes softened with understanding.

“Let me tell you something about _loss_ ,” he said, setting his cup down with a quiet clang. “Sixteen years ago, other strangers crashed on Awajira. It was on the other side of the planet. Others of our kind reside there. The Awaji were wary of these strangers, and so tried to keep them locked away…”

“Grandfather!” Kitra interrupted tightly. Ben glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. Her back was perfectly erect, Force presence a shuddered window. Through their bond, he could feel the pain and anger starting to rise in her. His heart fell.

Juro waved a dismissive hand, but even the wide wrinkles in his face drooped with pain. “Let me tell him, Kitra. We heard about this injustice over here, but you know it is not our way to interfere with the business of others. We worried about our neighbors, but our elders decided it was best not to impede or aid them. But one of us, my beloved son Hirsuit, and his clever wife Tireesa, had other plans. They believed that imprisoning the men without court or reason was wrong. They traveled to our neighbors to advocate on behalf of these poor souls, and do you know what happened?”

Juro leaned forward, as if eager to watch Ben guess. He shook his head. Juro slapped a hand down, face twisting with remembered grief. “The strangers had brought a bomb into the village. They set it off, just as my son negotiated their release. No survivors.”

Ben inhaled sharply. He squeezed Kitra’s hand beneath the table. “I’m sorry,” he told them both.

“I, too, know what it is to lose a family. I also know the consequences of forsaking who you are to become something you’re not,” Juro’s lips curled in a sneer. “It is _that_ which killed my son.”

Ben was inclined to point out that a bomb might have had something to do with it, but that would be counteractive. “I’m not here to compare griefs,” he said, shaking his head. “The others on the Council of Elders listen to you,” Juro grunted agreement. “These men are dangerous.”

“Danger is not anything to fear,” Kitra pointed out, glancing between the two with interest. Ben nodded to her.

“I know,” said the former general, with a bitter smile. “Nor is it something to welcome without first being _prepared._ Even the river changes its properties to prepare for the winter.”

“We are not the river. We are merely rocks,” Juro scoffed.

“Is a fish not part of its environment, though it is not made of water?” He’d have to thank Reykejin for the analogy. “I’m not suggesting that The Awaji become warriors, or renunciate generosity, merely discuss ways to _protect_ ourselves.”

“You’re showing your Jedi arrogance again, always trying to find ways to make yourself bigger than you are,” Juro sipped his tea for a long moment, like Master Yoda when he was trying to decide how best to punish you. “We are not the Force, Ben. We cannot predict or influence the future. We are not any more or less immune to violence and death than the branches of a tree. Can’t you feel that, as a student of The Whills?” He flexed in the Force, a brief squeeze of the eternal life-sense. The table between them rattled. “Your innate sameness to the world around you?”

“I do feel it,” Ben agreed softly. “However, I never mistook it for sameness, just… kinship. I may be built of the same materials, but I am…”

“Is a fish not part of the river, though it wears different skin?” Juro interrupted. He grinned, showcasing a few rotten teeth, at Ben’s spluttering. “You’re not the only one who has replayed this argument in your head, Seeker. As you can see, we could go in circles all night, but my decision will not change.”

Yes. Ben could feel that. His shoulders fell. He closed his eyes as the strong murk of burnt flesh replayed under his nose, yanking tears to his eyes. He remembered the last conversation he’d had with Ahsoka.

_“Sidious will find you.”_

_“One day, yes.”_

He just… He hadn’t expected it so soon. Nor had he been prepared to unleash the Dark master on others. Ben thought he’d die alone. _Maybe I still will._

He stood. “I understand,” he rasped, fists clenched at his sides. “I know what I have to do.” 


	18. The One of Great Sacrifice

Jedi were taught -through experience, through adrenaline -how to kill in a thousand different ways. As a Jedi was never without aid, so too were they never without weapons.

He almost wished he’d never been born with it.

Without the Force, he wouldn’t know their names. Ben stood above them. Only one had woken, and Ben shielded them in the Force.

The Awaji, lacking in extra huts, had placed the prisoners instead in the food store-cabin. Dried meats and frozen vegetables were stacked neatly around them.

Their unconscious bodies had been freed of their bindings, but Ben had placed them back on.

He knew how dangerous these men could be even without blasters. He had trained them himself. “Never thought I’d see you again, _traitor,”_ Cody spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

“You were never a fool, Cody,” Ben murmured. “Surely you know that by now, I am not the one to which that term applies.”

Cody’s eyes widened. He did know, Ben could sense. He just didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. How… Human. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, instead. “We shot you out of the sky.”

Ben knelt before him. “Where’s the rest of the 212th?”

“Separated,” Cody growled.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re soldiers,” there was some sorrow there, a blot of the man he’d once known. “We follow orders.” Cody slouched forward, but Ben had secured him to a beam in the middle of the room. “We would have followed you into Hell.”

Ben’s stomach clenched, but he would not look away. Not this time. “How strange,” he said. “That you would have followed me into the one place I refused to lead you. _You’re_ the one in Hell, Cody, but I cannot allow you to bring it here.”

Cody studied him with quiet intuition. “What are you gonna do, _general?_ Kill me?”

Ben placed a hand on his chest, just under his throat. “I will do what I must.” He had never strangled anyone before. It was surprisingly easy, not pleasant, but easy.

His eyes never left Cody’s face as he choked and gasped for air, eyes wide and glassy in the moonlight, legs kicking out as an invisible hand pressed the air from his chest…

“Ben!” He cried out as suddenly his body was yanked backwards, the work interrupted. Cody gasped for breath hoarsely.

Someone grasped him by the shoulders, swiveled him around. Adaj bent his head to stare into his eyes frantically. “What in all the stars are you doing?!” He hissed.

Ben shrugged the hands from his shoulders, heart hammering. “Protecting The Awaji! If we set them free, if they somehow find a way off this planet, they will bring The Emperor down on our heads!”

Adaj’s large horns towered above him like mallets. “So you’d silence them by your own hand?”

Ben blinked away tears. “I will do what it takes. I won’t hold back.” _Not this time._

“Ben, this is foolhardy,” Adaj rumbled, cupping his face with a large hand. His black eyes glittered with worry, as if he suspected Ben had been poisoned. “This is wrong! You will be cast out of the village. No one will ever speak to you again,” Ben pivoted on a heel.

“So be it,” he growled. “I won’t watch another people die because of me!”

Adaj grabbed his arm in a punishing grip. “Do this and you _will_ lose us!”

“Better I lose you than you feel the agony of losing _everything_!” Be shouted around the lump in his throat. He looked up, met Cody’s shining eyes in the darkness. A traitor’s eyes. A murderer’s eyes.

His eyes.

“Oh Ben,” Adaj whispered. He walked around to face him again, rested a gentle hand on the nape of his neck. “Chick. To lose you _would_ be losing everything. Don’t you realize how much joy and pride you’ve brought us?” He asked. Ben choked on a sob.

“I… I…” He stammered, thinking of all the havoc he had wrecked, the mistakes he had made, the people he’d let down. Who could possibly find joy in a man like him?

Adaj wrapped around him in the Force, a bolstering shield against the despair threatening to drown him. He stepped closer, and Ben was only as tall as his chest, but somehow this was not threatening.

It was comforting. “I know you, Ben. Maybe once, you would have been able to do this, but not now. You’re a survivor. A seeker, but you are no killer.”

“I could be, if it was required of me,” he blurted, as if he were a child seeking permission, a youngling once more standing at the feet of Qui-gon Jinn.

_I can be a Jedi. I promise._

But Adaj shook his head. “We would never require such a thing of you.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen.”

“I don’t,” admitted Adaj. Ben was taken aback. He had never heard the usually proud man admit such a thing before. Adaj smiled lopsidedly. “Likewise, you do not understand how much we love you. We could both stand to learn a few lessons, hm? We are keepers of the Light, remember? And in The Light, there is no ignorance…”

“There is only knowledge,” Ben repeated.

Adaj nodded, squeezed his neck. “Trust me, chick. We _will_ survive, if only so I can later say I told you so,” Ben stared, blinking past the tearful blurs in front of his eyes.

Then he collapsed.

Adaj caught him immediately, hooked his large arms under his knees and around his back and carried him like a scared babe out of the storage cabin.

Adaj closed the wooden door and leaned against it, slowly sinking to the ground in the snow. Ben wept against his chest. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m so…” he hiccupped, but Adaj just set a bulky chin atop his head, shushing him.

“You are not alone,” he reminded him, long, long into the night. “You never have to be alone again.”


	19. The One of Light

“You’ve learned a lesson recently,” there was no hiding anything from Reykejin.

Ben knelt at his feet, his chest heavy from explanations and confessions. He had refused to enter Learning again until he told Reykejin what he’d nearly done to Cody.

Reykejin crossed his arms, face severe. Ben nodded. “I… I know why Anakin did it,” he mumbled. Reykejin motioned for him to continue.

Ben gulped his own shame, the bitter after-tang of the lesson. “I was willing to kill them all – even Cody, who had once been like a brother to me – to protect the people I love. Even if I knew it meant they’d never speak to me again,” he looked up.

“Adaj pulled me back. He was there when I felt alone… No one was there for Anakin. Anyone who could have saved him was far away by then. Sidious had made sure of that,” Ben shivered, remembered his own agony, the uncertainty of his actions.

In the hours after Adaj had saved him, he had meditated. In the Force, he had seen Anakin in those tense, pivotal moments before swearing allegiance to a Dark Lord. He saw Anakin, terrified, and filled with doubt, hunched over in the Council chambers.

He hadn’t looked like a monster. Just as Cody had not looked like one in the moonlight. They were only men, following orders.

Ben inhaled a shuddering breath. “As Jedi, we were taught selflessness above all else,” he murmured. “To give of ourselves for the sake of others… Its why attachment was forbidden. The Council always feared that too much selflessness to one would eclipse everything else. We would give what was not ours to give, and take what was not ours to take, for the sake of a few. Anakin didn’t know how _not_ to love. I suppose he learned it from me.”

Silence. Ben waited his judgement.

Reykejin grunted. “Stand, apprentice.” Ben got to his feet, wobbling slightly.

And was immediately encased in strong arms. He slumped into the embrace, shocked. “Wh-what are you doing?” He stammered tearfully. How often was he going to _cry_ here? “I thought you would be ashamed of me, furious with me! How can you forgive me so easily?”

“I sensed your intentions the moment the elders made their decision,” Reykejin murmured into his ear. For someone three-hundred-years-old, his grip was stronger than the most carefully woven metal cables.

His Force presence, normally an entire ocean, now felt like silk, soft and sleek. “I knew this was a lesson I could not teach you in Learning. I was never angry with you,” his fingers dug into Ben’s shoulders as he held him back. Reykejin smiled. “I was sad because I thought you’d lose your way.”

“I did,” Ben pointed out, flabbergasted. Had Reykejin not been listening to his _entire_ story?

“Yes,” Reykejin shook him gently. “But you _found_ it again. Light is not the absence of darkness, but the amplification of it into a greater purpose. You, Ben, are one of the only people I know able to Fall, again and again, but crawl your way back into The Light. This is why I called you. I believe you can save others.”

Ben’s breath hitched. His eyes widened. Understanding felt like a punch to the gut. “Like I did with Anakin,” he breathed.

Reykejin’s eyes crinkled at the sides where he grinned. His blue skin suddenly seemed like a tapestry of dusk, sprinkled with stars. “For thousands of years, The Whills have observed the universe through the Force. Never interfering, just learning. We have predicted the future with _complete_ accuracy,” Reykejin squeezed his shoulders. “Until you came along.

“But… I didn’t forgive him… I didn’t even _like_ him! I just… I just…”

“Loved him?” Reykejin suggested. Ben shook his head violently. There had been many, many emotions that day, but love had not been high on the list. His shoulders slouched.

“Couldn’t give up on him,” he corrected. Reykejin grinned, as if he had just answered a question he’d never been asked.

_Unbelievable._

Ben snorted a laugh. “I thought we weren’t supposed to interfere with other’s choices?”

“As you just saw, Falling is very rarely a choice. It is an ultimatum between two _impossible_ choices,” Reykejin lowered his hands, shrugged. “The Whills have been on Awajira for decades, isolated and safe. We have been content to watch the galaxy, but you know as well as I that the galaxy is coming to us now. We cannot stay hidden forever. The Whills -the Awaji – must change, or else become like our cousins The Jedi.”

“So you brought me here to save you,” said the Seeker.

“I brought you here to hold the line. If saving us happens also, that would be nice, but remember, we are only rocks in the river,” he held up a lecturing finger. “We do not control the currents.”

Ben arched a brow over his shoulder. Qui-gon stood behind the ancient master, making a scene of rolling his eyes. Ben smiled. “No. But I think we can afford to prepare for a flood?” He asked. Reykejin narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.

“It won’t be easy,” he warned.

Qui-gon looked especially pleased by this. It tickled an answering roguish smile from Ben. He shrugged, rubbed at the overgrown tangles on his chin. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that _anything_ in my life is easy.” The Force chimed agreement.

Reykejin listened to the music for a long moment, seemingly fascinated. “Huh,” he harrumphed. Then, he gave a lopsided smile. “Don’t give up on us, Ben.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. Now promise me you _also_ won’t give up on yourself,” that was a bit harder. Ben tasted the ramifications of it, the responsibility for not only other’s souls but his own. He sighed.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready to give you that promise. But I will keep trying,” it was all he had to give. Reykejin smiled.

“That’s my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter was inspired by Avatar the Last Airbender and Zuko begging forgiveness from Uncle. Shut up.


	20. The One Freed

Obi-wan had strenuously advocated to know the full make-up of the clones.

He had wanted to be aware of the cloning and rearing process. Whether it was humane, what portions of the brain were affected, the culture that was encouraged amongst the young ones, how fast they grew, what happened to the defective clones.

He had feared that the mystery of the Clone’s would come to bite them in the rears. Master Shaak-Ti had agreed with him. That was why she had been stationed on Kamino, to keep an eye on the proceedings. He wondered how a micro-chip had made it past her close guard.

There was no time to worry about it now. Ben had a friend to save.

If only Cody were more… Cooperative.

“Ben,” Dema’tas worried, biting her bottom lip. Cody’s distress was a red blot in the Force. He struggled beneath Ben and Adaj’s hands, wriggling, the gag in his mouth soaked with screams. “I don’t know… No one has ever done anything like this before… Much less against the will of the patient…”

“Amondi, the brew!” Ben ordered. The young girl hurried around them, holding a boiling pot of foul-smelling sedative. It was primitive, but it was powerful. Ben pinched Cody’s nose closed, watched with a cringe as he choked, betrayal and fear bright in his eyes.

Ben snatched away the gag and Amondi jammed the ladle with the brew into his mouth. Cody had no choice but to choke down the foul substance. Cody’s eyelids fluttered a few times. Then he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“Believe me, I wish this weren’t necessary,” he assured Dema’tas. Adaj fell backward on his haunches. Their living room had been cleared to make room for the quick surgery. The other prisoners had woken and been released hours earlier. It had taken all of Ben’s old training to capture a wary and experienced Cody, much less get him into the hut before anyone noticed or sensed his absence. “But Cody isn’t acting of his own will right now. He’s acting of the will of Darth Sidious. The only way for him to be a freeman is if we destroy that inhibitor chip.”

“What if we accidentally kill him?” Dema’tas whispered fretfully.

It was a good question. “We’ve all been trained in the ways of the Force. I’ve done this before,” granted, he had done it on himself, but he _had_ done it. The plan was to crush the inhibitor chip inside Cody’s brain, to literally melt it out of existence. However, it required supreme concentration on his part, so Dema’tas would have to keep Cody sedated, Adaj would need to hold him down and Amondi would need to ensure he didn’t accidentally squish anything else in his quest to help.

His family remained quiet for a long moment, uncertainty dancing in each set of eyes. Ben waited patiently. He could not compel them to help him. “I know I’ve said this before,” Amondi finally said, sighing. “I think it bears saying again though: you’re crazy, Ben.”

They exchanged a smile. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

Amondi nodded and knelt by Cody’s head, placing both hands on his temples. “Tell me where to look,” she said.

Adaj secured Cody’s hands on either side of his slack face. Dema’tas closed her eyes and bowed her head, reaching out to soothe him in the Force. Ben acted likewise, setting a palm over Cody’s forehead. “Ahsoka said it was in the upper portion of the corpus callosum.”

“ _Ahsoka_ did this?”

“Focus, Padawan,” the word slipped out of him easily. “Feel your way around the brain, find the synapses and the blood vessels. Don’t touch those.”

“What _do_ I touch?”

Ben probed about until he ran into it, a tiny, hard casing of foreignness. He had known it existed of course, but they had been led to believe this chip was essential in the clone’s development. Without it, their brains would collapse in on themselves. For Cody’s sake, Ben hoped that, too, had been a lie. “It’s a small data-chip, no larger than my fingernail. Do you feel it?” Silence. A few moments passed. Amondi startled.

“Yes.”

“Here we go then.” Last time he had done this, Ventress had forced small wooden splinters into him, tiny enough to pierce and break inside the body. He’d saved himself by destroying the intruding bits. It had been painful, debilitating.

He thanked the Force it had happened. Without _then,_ he wouldn’t be able to help Cody _now._

Ben concentrated on intensifying the heat of the chip. Amondi gritted her teeth as she assisted, her focus laser thin. Cody grunted. Adaj tightened his grip. Dema’tas whimpered.

“He’s waking up.”

“A few more moments.”

“Ben!”

“ _Hold,_ Dema’tas!”

The presence vanished. Ben gasped and straightened, only to topple backwards, spent. Amondi sagged into her father’s shoulder, panting. It was done. Dema’tas relinquished her hold and scrambled to her husband like a child caught stealing. Adaj hugged her against his side, backing away as Cody groaned.

They all sat completely still, watching with wide eyes. Ben’s heart hammered. Cody shook his head slowly, as if waking from a long, psychedelic dream. He slowly blinked his eyes open, and Ben’s breath caught in his throat. Cody’s eyes were filmed over, murky, and grey. Blind. Dema’tas sobbed.

“Cody?” Amondi whispered.

Cody turned his head, brows furrowed. “I can’t… I can’t see.”

“What have we _done_?” Adaj gagged.

“But I… I feel…” Cody suddenly pivoted his spine and started to reach out, searching. “General?!” Ben caught his hand, bowed his head.

“I’m here, Cody. I-I’m so sorry…”

“No!” Cody commanded. Now Ben looked up, and there was something unrestrained and fierce and desperately aching in Cody’s expression. A tear raced down a grizzled cheek.

“No, don’t you be sorry. I don’t hear him anymore. I don’t know how, but you… You _saved_ me. For the first time in my life,” a blinding, debilitating grin. “I am free.”


	21. The One Demoted

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Reykejin started it.

He just couldn’t _finish_ it. The fool.

The snowball fight could have remained a private affair, kept between the children, but Reykejin just _had_ to toss a large handful of ice at Adaj’s head. And Ben just _had_ to step into its path, protecting Adaj’s back with his own body. He’d tumbled to the ground, gasping, as cold, cold, _cold_ snuck beneath his tunics.

“Reykejin! This means war!” Adaj had thundered and it had spiraled from there. Now, Ben was hiding behind a mound of snow. 

“This is ludicrous,” Ben marveled, peeking just above to ascertain the other side’s defenses. They were still holding. “They shouldn’t have been able to fend off that last attack.”

“Were you even _a good_ general?” Amondi demanded. She bared her teeth in a feral growl and spun. The hardpacked ball of ice she’d kept in hand soared across the grounds and smacked straight into the stomach of Opiyar. The fellow human was knocked backwards, much to the amusement of his husband.

“I was one of _the best_!” Ben squawked.

Amondi glared. “Then why are we _losing?”_ Ben spluttered indignantly.

A lithe body flew over the mound and landed beside them with a low thud. Kitra dusted snow off the front of her tunic gracefully. “You can’t win ‘em all, general,” she pointed out. Her lips were blue from the freezing temperature, but her cheeks were flushed with delight. 

At last. Someone of reason. Ben turned to her with a smug look over his shoulder at Amondi, arms crossed. “Kitra, report. How are we doing on the offensive?” Kitra’s smile was pitying.

“There’s only five of us left, Ben,” she told him, in the gentlest of tones. His jaw went slack. Another barrage of snowballs flew over their heads. They ducked. Kitra started compiling the leftover snow at their feet to return fire. All the snow in the nearby area had been collected earlier in the battle for ammunition. They were just standing in dust now.

“I think Cody came up with all the battle strategies,” Amondi declared, eyes narrowed at his back. “You just signed papers, didn’t you?”

Her doubt was _appalling_ for one he called family. “No!”

Cody took that moment to make his grand entrance. Snow layered his shoulders and trickled from his fur-lined hood at each jostle. It was positively packed on his boot bottoms and he was shivering violently, but they had endured worse on countless worlds. He and Adaj sprinted from the cover of nearby huts to their position, knelt on the other side of Ben.

“Cody,” Ben gasped, suddenly needing reassurance. “Was I a good general?” Cody couldn’t technically see anything, but he did cock his head and turn in Ben’s general direction. He scowled, as if hurt by the question.

“You were a _brilliant_ general, sir,” he replied. Amondi mumbled something disbelieving beneath her breath.

“Amondi seems to think all I did was sign paperwork while you compiled our battle strategy.”

“I mean, I did devise most of it,” Cody rubbed the back of his neck apologetically. Ben gawked at this most terrible of betrayals. “Your only trouble was that if you could avoid cheating, you would.”

Ben squared his shoulders. “That’s called honor.”

“That’s called _bad leadership_ ,” Amondi corrected darkly. Kitra barked a laugh.

“You were always more Jedi than soldier,” Cody chuckled, patting his shoulder. Once, this kind of familiarity would have come only after a particularly bad campaign, but Cody was different now that he had been freed from the chip in his brain. In the weeks since, he had positively _devoured_ every scrap of knowledge he could, hoarding any story that was not about war. He had thrown himself into cooking and baking and gardening with all the fervor of a curious child.

He was learning how to be himself. It was beautiful.

“Can we focus please?!” Adaj snapped. “If Reykejin’s team wins this, I will _never_ hear the end of it!”

“Cody, you haven’t missed a single shot,” Kitra observed, with admiration. The words _despite your blindness_ went unspoken, but not unheard.

Cody snorted. “I was a soldier. We didn’t always have the best sight range, but we landed our target, or we died. End of story,” there was that cynicism again, the deep roots of pain and bitterness that had always been beneath the surface. Ben cringed. Reykejin assured him that he had been similar when he’d first come to Awajira, but watching Cody go through the same hurtles was far from easy.

Amondi only heard one thing in all that. “I vote we promote Cody to general,” she said. Ben momentarily floundered, feeling as if he had just been socked in the gut.

Then he shrugged. “Total warfare was never my style anyway,” he supposed. He set a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Your orders, general?”

Now Cody was the one floundering, the reversal of their roles like flinging him into freezing water, but The Awaji had not lived that life. They did not have a grasp of hierarchy or command structures; their power came from the Force. One could not take or give it, and roles were only that. A momentary mask one put on for the sake of a goal. There were such concepts as teachers, elders, and leaders here, but no generals, masters or rulers.

Cody smiled, shy and bashful, but decisive. “Ok, listen up,” he straightened his shoulders. “Way I see it, the only way we’re going to win this is by taking them off-guard. Full-on assault. Adaj, Amondi, you attack them from the right. Ben, Kitra, you take the left. I’m going in through the _front.”_

Amondi was off like a shot, Adaj on her heels. “On it!”

Ben saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“How does it feel?” Kitra teased, after Cody had launched himself into the battle-zone. “Having your rank stripped from you in the blink of an eye?”

He grinned at her. “Like freedom.”


	22. The One Where She Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitra has a bad day. Ben finds out why.

Winter ended with storms and ground quakes.

Great, tumultuous downpours that felled trees. Awajira thrashed beneath their feet, quaking and shivering. Huts and cabins collapsed in the deep mud, and they had to seek assistance from their sister villages. Strangers came from different spots on Awajira, helped to rebuild what the shaking ground had torn down.

“You look wet,” Ben observed, two months after the quake. He rolled his shoulders. He had spent the last two hours Force-lifting large boulders and tree branches from the village grounds. The downpour had lessened to a drizzle. Kitra crossed her arms, her hair sat coiled and puffed near her neck.

“Gemen and Jasu decided to have a puddle splashing competition,” she flicked some hair behind an ear. “I won.” Ben snickered.

“Not surprising.” Cody walked past them with a group of others carrying a log on their shoulders. At Kitra’s shout, he waved.

“He’s a hard worker,” Kitra said.

“He always has been,” Ben glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He could sense something… _Off_ about her, a disturbance in her normally shielded psyche. “Have you ever met a non-sensitive before?”

There. She flinched.

“I have,” she replied curtly. “It was not a good experience. I’m glad Cody isn’t like them.” Ah. Ben skimmed the compound momentarily. He caught sight of Dema’tas, her undulating tresses floating higher than usual. They met eyes. He arched a brow. Dema’tas shook her head, made a shooing motion with her hands.

“I’m being ordered to take a break,” he deduced. “I think I’ll take a walk to the beach. Would you care to join me?” He offered his arm.

“Oh, are we dancing in the rain now?” Kitra teased, even as she wound her arm through his elbow. They started down an old path, obscured by fallen trees and mud, but visible enough.

“I wasn’t very good at dancing in the sun, but I suppose I can give it a shot.”

“I’ll show you,” Kitra promised, squeezing his arm. Ben smiled down at her.

“Kitra, have you ever wanted to leave Awajira?” He asked, curious.

Kitra snorted. “Oh yes. I used to dream of traveling the galaxy.”

“What would you have done?”

A roll of the eyes. “I had grand plans to attend some fancy arts school I can’t even remember the name of anymore. I wanted to dance across the universe, but my dancing career would be a front, see,” she leaned in closer. “When I wasn’t on stage, I would be leading slave rebellions and returning stolen artifacts to their rightful people.”

“I wouldn’t expect less of you.”

“I even tried to build a ship once, from old scrap parts. I spent weeks fawning over it, going off the schematics I’d seen in a book at least a hundred years old. Ben, I tell you that poor contraption didn’t even resemble _a blender_ …”

He laughed. Kitra seemed to always make him do that. “What happened to it?”

A snort. “I destroyed it, of course. It was a disgrace.”

“A pity,” he said lightly. “I would have liked to see this blender ship of yours,” he chuckled when she nudged his side. Suddenly, the Force twisted, like a dish rag being wrung out. A decision was made. He could sense it. Kitra came to a sudden stop.

“My grandfather didn’t tell you everything about my parents’ death,” she blurted. Ben blinked, taken aback. He had never asked Kitra for the story of her deepest agonies. He of all people knew that some pains did not have words.

Perhaps she had found the words for this story. “He doesn’t know the whole story.” Kitra did not meet his eyes. She exhaled a shuddering breath. “I… I just wanted to _leave,”_ she whispered

He stepped closer, pressed her hands between both of his, brought them to his mouth so he could blow warmth into them again. “Kitra, whatever happened, I will not judge you for it,” he vowed. _Just as you have not judged me._

Kitra’s shoulders dipped beneath a thousand weights. “I was so young when the foreigners crashed here. Eighteen. When our sister village held them captive, I… I snuck into the cave where they were being held. I told them I’d free them if… If they took me with them. They agreed. My instincts told me something was wrong, but I thought it was just nerves. A few days later, I packed all my things and undid their bindings and we boarded their ship while no one was looking. That’s when they attacked me. They beat me. They spit on me. They… They…” He sensed the rest before she could finish. His heart clenched. A spark of rage kindled just below the skin. He bowed his head over her hands.

“I understand. I…” he gulped. “Me too.”

Kitra’s eyes snapped up to meet his, desperately. There was more. “I only managed to escape because there was a flaw with the ship’s engines. They couldn’t take off right away. I ran back home and told my parents. I’m the reason…They went to recapture those… Those _monsters,_ not free them. But when they had them trapped, someone triggered the self-destruct mechanism and…” She sobbed, took a trembling step backwards. “I killed my parents.”

Ben shook his head slowly. “No, my dear.”

“I was naïve and stupid!”

“You,” he cupped her face, steered her to meet his eyes. “Are _so_ brave.”

He felt the tears before he saw them. He had wrapped his arms around her before he knew it, instinctively understanding the outpour that was about to wash over her. He did not budge as she screamed, long and desperate and loud, into his chest.

Pummeled him with fists and rage and shame and grief. He did not budge as the wind swept away her tears, soft as a mother’s touch. He only held her while she mourned, and listened to it, hearing the distant echo of Obi-wan Kenobi.


End file.
